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THE OLD TIMES 



BOOKS BY JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY 



Biographical Edition of the Complete Works of James 
Whitcomb Riley. In Six Volumes. Edited 
by Edmund H. Eitel, with Bio- 
graphical Notes 

GREENFIELD EDITION 



Neghborly Poems 
Sketches in Prose 
Afterwhiles 

Pipes 0* Pan at Zekesbury 
Rhymes of Childhood 
The Flying Islands of the 
Night 



Green Fields and Running 

Brooks 
Armazindy 
A Child-World 
Home-Folks 
Morning 

His Pa's Romance 
The Old Times 



DEER CREEK ILLUSTRATED EDITION 

Riley Songs of Home Riley Songs o' Cheer 

Riley Songs of Summer Riley Love-Lyrics 

Riley Child-Rhymes Riley Farm-Rhymes 

CHRISTY-RILEY BOOKS 



An Old Sweetheart of Mine 
Out to Old Aunt Mary's 
Home Again With Me 
A Discouraging Model 
Old-Fashioned Roses 



The Girl I Loved 
V/hen She Was About Six- 
teen 
Riley Roses 
The Rose 



RILEY BOOKLETS 



Contentment 
Just Be Glad 
To My Friend 
Away 
The Rose 

A Song of Long Ago 
When My Dreams Come 
True 



The Days Gone By 
When She Comes Home 
The Glad Sweet Face of 

Her 
Her Beautiful Eyes 
Do They Miss Me 
He and I 



BRANDYWINE BOOKS 

Knee Deep in June The Old Swimmin' Hole 

A Summer's Day Down Around the River 

The Prayer Perfect When the Frost is on the 

Punkin 

RILEY-BETTS BOOKS 



While the Heart Beats 

Young 
The Runaway Boy 
Little Orphant Annie 



The Boy Lives on Our 

Farm 
Riley Child Verse 
The Raggedy Man 
Ef You Don't Watch Out 



MISCELLANEOUS 



The Flying Islands of the 
Night (Franklin Booth 
Edition) 

Baby Ballads 

Riley Baby Book 

Good-Bye, Jim 

A Hoosier Romance 

Poems Here at Home 

Rubaiyat of Doc Sifers 



Old-Fashioned Roses 

The Golden Year 

All the Year Round 

Old School Day Romances 

A Defective Santa Claus 

The Boys of the Old Glee 

Club 
The Lockerbie Book of 

Riley Verse 



THE OLD TIMES 



JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY 



INDIANAPOLIS 

THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 



Copyright 1914-, 1915 
James Whitcomb Riley 









PRESS OF 

BRAUNWORTH & CO. 

BOOKBINDERS AND PRINTERS 

BROOKLYN, N. Y. 



nr / , ' " 



L/ 



APR 12 1915 

(©GI,A39834r) 



TO 
BOOTH TARKINGTON 



CONTENTS 



PAGE 

The Old Times Were the Best 1 

A Backwaed Look 3 

Philiper Flash 6 

The Same Old Stoby 11 

To A Boy Whistling 13 

What Smith Knew About Faemixg 14 

A Poet's Wooing ........ 21 

Man's Devotion 23 

A Summer Afternoon 27 

At Last 29 

My Jolly Friend's Secret 31 

Job Work 34 

Private Theatricals 36 

Plain Sermons 38 

"Johnson's Boy" 39 

Scraps 42 

Dead in Sight of Fame 44 

Dead Leaves 46 

Night 47 

Over the Eyes of Gladness 48 



CONTENTS — Continued 

PAGE 

Only a Dream 50 

Song of the New Year ......... 52 

A Letter to a Friend 55 

Lines for an Album 57 

To Annie 58 

The Harp of the Minstrel 59 

John Walsh 61 

That Other Maud Mulleb 63 

A Man of Many Parts 65 

A Dream of Long Ago 67 

Wash Lowry's Reminiscence 70 

The Ancient Printerman 75 

When Mother Combed My Hair 77 

George Mullen's Confession 79 

"Tired Out" 88 

Harlie 90 

A Test of Love 92 

Father William 94 

Morton 96 

An Autumnal Extravaganza 98 

The Merman 101 

A Summer Sunrise 104 

An Old Year's Address 107 

A New Year's Plaint 110 

Luther Benson 113 



CONT'ENTS— Continued 

PAGE 

When Evening Shadows Fall 115 

A Fantasy 117 

A Dbeam 122 

Bryant 125 

Liberty 126 

T. C. Philips 137 

A Dream Unfinished 138 

The Vision of Rabbi Ben Isaac 141 

Unspoken 145 

Thanksgiving Day at Htjnchley's 147 

Apart 153 

To Leonainie 155 

Ye Scholar 157 

Death is Dead 158 

The Little Dead Man 159 

The Empty Song 163 

A Rose in October 164 

The Little Old Poem That Nobody Reads . . .166 

Lines (On Hearing a Cow Bawl) 168 

Friend of a Wayward Hour 170 

Lines (On Receiving a Present) 171 

Last Words 172 

At Bay 173 

The Ballad of Smiles and Tears 175 

Wait 177 



CONTENTS— Continued 

PAGE 

Lelloine 179 

Since My Mother Died . 181 

Hope 183 

The Ginoine Ar-tickle 184 

Stanzas for a New Song 185 

Lines to an Onsettled Young Man 187 

Plantation Hymn 188 

Michael Flynn and the Baby 190 

Guinevere 192 

The Conqueror 194 

The Mad Lover 195 

Her Valentine 197 

The Dead Joke and the Funny Man 198 

One Angel 200 

An Invocation 202 

From Below 203 

Glamour 204 

Puck 206 

My Laddie wi' the Bashfu* Grace 207 

A Tress of Hair 208 

Oh, Her Beauty 210 

My Old Friend 211 

The Old Hand-Organ 213 

The Piper's Son 214 

There is a Need 215 



CONTl^NTS— Continued 

PAGE 

Love's as Broad as Long 216 

Unknown Friends 218 

An End 219 

Her Choice 220 

A Case in Pint .221 

OLE Bull 224 

Requiescat 226 



THE OLD TIMES 



THE OLD TIMES WEKE THE BEST 

Feiends^ my heart is half aweary 

Of its happiness to-night: 
Though your songs are gay and cheery, 

And your spirits feather-light, 
There's a ghostly music haunting 

Still the heart of every gnest, 
And a voiceless chorus chanting 

That the Old Times were the best ! 

CHORUS 

All about is bright and pleasant 
With the sound of song and jest, 

Yet the feeling's ever present 
That the Old Times were the best. 

There's a mnsic-written story — 

There's an opera divine, 
In the melody of glory 

That renews this sonl of mine. 
1 



THE OLD TIMES WERE THE BEST 

There are looks of love and laughter. 
And a thousand joys nnguessed 

That are saved for the Hereafter, 
For the Old Times were the best. 



A BACKWAED LOOK 

As I sat smoking, alone, yesterday, 

And lazily leaning back in my chair, 
Enjoying myself in a general way — 
Allowing my thoughts a holiday 

From weariness, toil and care, — 
My fancies — doubtless, for ventilation — 

Left ajar the gates of my mind, — 
And Memory, seeing the situation. 

Slipped out in the street of ^^Auld Lang Syne. 

Wandering ever with tireless feet 

Through scenes of silence, and jubilee 
Of long-hushed voices ; and faces sweet 
Were thronging the shadowy side of the street 

As far as the eye could see ; 
Dreaming again, in anticipation. 

The same old dreams of our boyhood's days 
That never come true, from the vague sensation 

Of walking asleep in the world's strange ways. 

3 



A BACKWABD LOOK 

Away to the house where I was born ! 

And there was the selfsame clock that ticked 
From the close of dusk to the burst of morn, 
When life-warm hands plucked the golden corn 

And helped when the apples were picked. 
And the ^^chany dog'^ on the mantel-shelf. 

With the gilded collar and yellow eyes, 
Looked just as at first, when I hugged myself 

Sound asleep with the dear surprise. 

And down to the swing in the locust-tree, 

Where the grass was worn from the trampled ground, 
And where ^^Eck'^ Skinner, '^Old'' Carr, and three 
Or four such other boys used to be 

^^Doin^ sky-scrapers,^^ or ^Vhirlin' round'^: 
And again Bob climbed for the bluebird^s nest. 

And again ^^had shows'^ in the buggy-shed 
Of Guymon^s barn, where still, unguessed. 

The old ghosts romp through the best days dead! 

And again I gazed from the old schoolroom 
With a wistful look, of a long June day, 

When on my cheek was the hectic bloom 

Caught of Mischief, as I presume — 
He had such a ^^partiaF' way, 

4 



A BACKWARD LOOK 

It seemed, toward me. — And again I thought 

Of a probable likelihood to be 
Kept in after school — for a girl was caught 

Catching a note from me. 

And down through the woods to the swimming-hol 

Where the big, white, hollow old sycamore grows, 
And we never cared when the water was cold, 
And always ^''ducked^^ the boy that told 

On the fellow that tied the clothes. — 
When life went so like a dreamy rhyme. 

That it seems to me now that then 
The world was having a jollier time 

Than it ever will have again. 



5 



PHILIPEE FLASH 

Young Philiper Flash was a promising lad, 
His intentions were good — but oh, how sad 

For a person to think 

How the veriest pink 
And bloom of perfection may turn out bad. 
Old Flash himself was a moral man, 
And prided himself on a moral plan. 

Of a maxim as old 

As the calf of gold, 
Of making that boy do what he was told. 

And such a good mother had Philiper Flash ; 
Her voice was as soft as the creamy plash 
Of the milky wave 
With its musical lave 
That gushed through the holes of her patent churn- 
dash ; — 
And the excellent woman loved Philiper so, 
She could cry sometimes when he stumped his toe, — 

6 



PHILIPER FLASH 

And she stroked his hair 
With such motherly care 
When the dear little angel learned to swear. 

Old Flash himself would sometimes say 
That his wife had ^^such a ridiculous way^ — 

She'd humor that child 

Till he'd soon be spoiled, 
And then there'd be the devil to pay !'' 
And the excellent wife, with a martyr's look, 
Would tell old Flash himself ^'^he took 

Ifo notice at all 

Of the bright-eyed doll 
Unless when he spanked him for getting a fall !'^ 

Young Philiper Flash, as time passed by, 
Grew into ^'a boy with a roguish eye" : 

He could smoke a cigar, 

And seemed by far 
The most promising youth. — ^^He's powerful sly/* 
Old Flash himself once told a friend, 
^"^Every copper he gets he's sure to spend — 

And," said he, ^^don't you know 

If he keeps on so 
What a crop of wild oats the boy will grow !'' 

1 



PHILIPER FLASH 

But his dear good mother knew Philiper's ways 
So — well, she managed the money to raise ; 

And old Flash himself 

Was "laid on the shelf'' 
(In the manner of speaking we have nowadays). 
For "^^gracions knows, her darling child, 
If he went without money he'd soon grow wild." 

So Philiper Flash 

With a regular dash 
"Swung on to the reins," and went "slingin^ the cash." 

As old Flash himself, in his office one day, 
Was shaving notes in a barberons way. 

At the hour of four 

Death entered the door 
And shaved the note on his life, they say. 
And he had for his grave a magnificent tomb. 
Though the venturous finger that pointed "Gone 
Home," 

Looked white and cold 

From being so bold. 
As it feared that a popular lie was told. 

Young Philiper Flash was a man of style 
When he first began unpacking the pile 

8 



PHILIPER FLASH 

Of the dollars and dimes 

Whose jingling chimes 
Had chinked to the tune of his f ather^s smile ; 
And he strewed his wealth with such lavish hand. 
His rakish ways were the talk of the land, 

And gossipers wise 

Sat winking their eyes 
(A certain foreboding of fresh surprise). 

A "fast young man^^ was Philiper Flash, 
And wore "loud clothes^^ and a weak mustache. 

And "done the Park,^' 

For an "afternoon lark,^^ 
With a very fast horse of "remarkable dash/^ 
And Philiper handled a billiard-cue 
About as well as the best he knew. 

And used to say 

"He could make it pay 
By playing two or three games a day. 



?? 



And Philiper Flash was his mother's joy. 
He seemed to her the magic alloy 

That made her glad. 

When her heart was sad, 

9 



PHILIPER FLASH 

With the thought that "she lived for her darling 

boy/' 
His dear good mother wasn't aware 
How her darling boy relished a "tare/' — 

She said "one night 

He gave her a fright 
By coming home late and acting tight.' 



iy 



Young Philiper Flash, on a winterish day. 
Was published a bankrupt, so they say — 

And as far as I know 

I suppose it was so. 
For matters went on in a singular way; 
His excellent mother, I think I was told^ 
Died from exposure and want and cold; 

And Philiper Flash, 

With a horrible slash, 
Whacked his jugular open and went to smash. 



10 



THE SAME OLD STOET 

The same old story told again — 

The maiden droops her head, 
The ripening glow of her crimson cheek 

Is answering in her stead. 
The pleading tone, of a trembling voice 

Is telling her the way 
He loved her when his heart was young 

In Youth^s sunshiny day: 
The trembling tongue, the longing tone, 

Imploringly ask why 
They can not be as happy now 

As in the days gone by. 
And two more hearts, tumultuous 

With overflowing joy. 
Are dancing to the music 

Which that dear, provoking boy 
Is twanging on his bowstring. 

As, fluttering his wings, 
11 



THE SAME OLD STOKY 

He sends his love-charged arrows 

While merrily he sings: 
^^Ho ! ho ! my dainty maiden. 

It surely can not be 
You are thinking you are master 

Of your heart, when it is me/^ 
And another gleaming arrow 

Does the little god's behest, 
And the dainty little maiden 

Falls upon her lover's breast. 
^^The same old story told again/' 

And listened o'er and o'er, 
Will still be new, and pleasing, too, 

Till ''Time shall be no more." 



12 



TO A BOY WHISTLING 

The smiling face of a liappy boy 

With its enchanted key 

Is now unlocking in memory 
My store of heartiest joy. 

And my lost life again to-day. 

In pleasant colors all aglow. 

From rainbow tints, to pure white snow. 
Is a panorama sliding away. 

The whistled air of a simple tune 

Eddies and whirls my thoughts around, 
As fairy balloons of thistle-down 

Sail through the air of June. 

happy boy with untaught grace ! 
What is there in the world to give 
That can buy one hour of the life you live 

Or the trivial cause of your smiling face ! 

13 



WHAT SMITH K?s^EW ABOUT PAEMING 

Theee wasn^t two purtier farms in the state 
Than the couple of which Fm about to relate ; — 
Jinin^ each other — belongin^ to Brown, 
And jest at the edge of a flourishing town. 
Brown was a man, as I understand. 
That alius had handled a good ^eal o' land, 
And was sharp as a tack in drivin^ a trade — 
For thaf s the way most of his money was made. 
And all the grounds and the orchards about 
His two pet farms was all tricked out 
With poppies and posies 
And sweet-smellin^ rosies; 
And hundreds o' kinds 
Of all sorts o' vines. 
To tickle the most horticultural minds ; 
And little dwarf trees not as thick as your wrist 
With ripe apples on 'em as big as your fist : 
And peaches, — Siberian crabs and pears. 
And quinces — Well ! any fruit any tree bears ; 

14 



"WHAT SMITH KNEW ABOUT FARMING 

And the purtiest stream — jest a-swimmin^ with fish, 
And — jest a' most everything heart could wish! 
The purtiest orchards — I wish you could see 
How purty they was, fer I know it ^ud be 
A regular treat ! — but 1^11 go ahead with 
My story ! A man by the name o' Smith — 
(A bad name to rhyme 
But I reckon that I'm 
'Not goin' back on a Smith ! nary time !) 
'At hadn't a soul of kin nor kith, 

And more money than he knowed what to do with, — 
So he comes a-ridin' along one day, 
And he says to Brown, in his offhand way — 
Who was trainin' some newfangled vines round a bay- 
Winder — ^^Howdy-do — look-a-here — say : 
What'll you take fer this property here ? — 
I'm talkin' o' leavin' the city this year. 
And I want to be 
Where the air is free. 

And I'll buy this place, if it ain't too dear !" — 
Well — they grumbled and jawed aroun' — 
"I don't like to part with the place," says Brown; 
^Well," says Smith, a-jerkin' his head, 

^That house yonder — bricks painted red — 

15 



WHAT SMITH KNEW ABOUT FAKMING 

Jest like this'n — a purtier view — 
Who is it owns itr 'That's mine too/' 
Says Brown, as he winked at a hole in his shoe, 
"But I'll tell yon right here jest what I Jcin do : — 
If you'll pay the figgers I'll sell it to you." 
Smith went over and looked at the place — 
Badgered with Brown, and argied the ease — 
Thought that Brown's figgers was rather too tall, 
But, findin' that Brown wasn't goin' to fall, 
In final agreed. 
So they drawed up the deed 

Fer the farm and the fixtures — the live stock an' all. 
And so Smith moved from the city as soon 
As he possibly could — But *^'the man in the moon" 
Knowed more'n Smith o' farmin' pursuits. 
And jest to convince you, and have no disputes. 
How little he knowed, 
I'll tell you his ''mode," 

As he called it, o' raisin' ''the best that growed,' 
In the way o' potatoes — 
Cucumbers — ^tomatoes, 

And squashes as lengthy as young alligators. 
'Twas alius a curious thing to me 
How big a fool a feller kin be 

16 



^y 



WHAT SMITH K:N'EW ABOUT FARMING 

When he gits on a farm after leavin' a town ! — 
Expectin^ to raise himself up to renown, 
And reap fer himself agricultural fame, 
By growin' of squashes — without any shame — 
As useless and long as a technical name. 
To make the soil pure, 
And certainly sure. 

He plastered the ground with patent manure. 
He had cultivators, and double-hoss plows. 
And patent machines fer milkin^ his cows ; 
And patent hay-forks — patent measures and weights, 
And new patent back-action hinges fer gates. 
And barn locks and latches, and such little dribs. 
And patents to keep the rats out o' the cribs— 
Eeapers and mowers. 
And patent grain sowers ; 
And drillers 
And tillers 

And cucumber hillers. 

And horries; — and had patent rollers and scrapers 
And took about ten agricultural papers. 
So you can imagine how matters turned out : 
But Brown didn^t have not a shadder o' doubt 
That Smith didn^t know what he was about 

17 



WHAT SMITH KIS^EW ABOUT FARMING 

When he said that ^"^the old way to farm was played out/^ 
But Smith worked ahead, 
And when any one said 

That the old way o' workin^ was better instead 
0' his ^^modern idees/^ he alius turned red, 
And wanted to know 
What made people so 

Infernally anxious to hear theirselves crow? 
And guessed that he^d manage to hoe his own row. 
Brown he come onc^t and leant over the fence. 
And told Smith that he couldn^t see any sense 
In goin^ to such a tremendous expense 
Fer the sake o^ such no-account expeeriments : — 
^^That'll never make corn! 
As shore^s you^re born 

It'll come out the leetlest end of the horn V^ 
Says Brown, as he pulled off a big roastin'-ear 
From a stalk of his own 
That had tribble outgrown 

Smith's poor yaller shoots, and says he, '^Looky here! 
This corn was raised in the old-fashioned way. 
And I rather imagine that this corn'll pay 
Expenses fer raisin' it ! — ^What do you say ?'' 
Brown got him then to look over his crop. — 

18 



WHAT SMITH KXEW ABOUT FARMINa 

Eis luck that season had been tip-top ! 
And yon may surmise 
Smith opened his eyes 
And let out a look o^ the wildest surprise 
When Brown showed him punkins as big as the lies 
He was stuflBn' him with — about offers he's had 
Fer his farm : ^^I don't want to sell very bad/' 
He says, but says he, 
'^Mr. Smith, you kin see 
Fer yourself how matters is standin' with me, 
I understand farmin and I'd better stay, 
You know, on my farm ; — I'm a-makin' it pay — 
I oughtn't to grumble ! — I reckon I'll clear 
Away over four thousand dollars this year." 
And that was the reason, he made it appear. 
Why he didn't care about sellin' his farm. 
And hinted at his havin' done himself harm 
In sellin' the other, and wanted to know 
If Smith wouldn't sell back ag'in to him. — So 
Smith took the bait, and says he, ^'^Mr. Brown, 
I wouldn't sell out but we might swop aroun' — 
How'll you trade your place fer mine?" 
(Purty sharp way o' comin' the shine 
Over Smith ! Wasn't it ?) Well, sir, this Brown 

19 



WHAT SMITH KNEW ABOUT FARMING 

Played out his hand and brought Smithy down — 

Traded with him an'^ workin' it cute, 

Eaked in two thousand dollars to boot 

As slick as a whistle, an' that wasn't all, — 

He managed to trade back ag'in the next fall, — 

And the next — and the next — as long as Smith stayed 

He reaped with his harvests an annual trade. — 

Why, I reckon that Brown must 'a' easily made — 

On an average — ^nearly two thousand a year — 

Together he made over seven thousand — clear. — 

Till Mr. Smith found he was losin' his health 

In as big a proportion, almost, as his wealth; 

So at last he concluded to move back to town. 

And sold back his farm to this same Mr. Brown 

At very low figgers, by gittin' it down. 

Further'n this I have nothin' to say 

Than merely advisin' the Smiths fer to stay 

In their grocery stores in flourishin' towns 

And leave agriculture alone — and the Browns. 



20 



A POErS WOOIXG 

**I woo'd a woman once. 
But she was sharper than an eastern wind,'* 

— Tennyson. 

^*^What may I do to make you glad, 
To make you glad and free, 
Till your light smiles glance 
And your bright eyes dance 
Like sunbeams on the sea? 

Read some rhyme that is blithe and gay 
Of a bright May morn and a marriage day ?'' 
And she sighed in a listless way she had, — 
"Do not read — it will make me sad ?^ 

"What shall I do to make you glad — 
To make you glad and gay. 
Till your eyes gleam bright 
As the stars at night 
When as light as the light of day? — 

21 



A poet's wooing 

Sing some song as I twang the strings 
Of my sweet guitar through its wanderings T^ 
And she sighed in the weary way she had, — 
^^Do not sing — it will make me sad V^ 

^'What can I do to make you glad — 
As glad as glad can be. 
Till your clear eyes seem 
Like the rays that gleam 
And glint through a dew-decked tree ? — 
Will it please you, dear, that I now begin 
A grand old air on my violin?'^ 
And she spoke again in the following way, — 

^^Yes, oh yes, it would please me, sir; 
I would be so glad youM play 

Some grand old march — in character, — 
And then as you march away 
I will no longer thus be sad, 
But oh, so glad — so glad — so glad V^ 



22 



MAX^S DEA^OTION* 

A LOYEE said, ^^0 Maiden, love me well, 

For I must go away: 
And should another ever come to tell 

Of love — What will you say ?^ 

And she let fall a royal robe of hair 

That folded on his arm 
And made a golden pillow for her there; 

Her face — as bright a charm 

As ever setting held in kingly crown — 

Made answer with a look, 
And reading it, the lover bended down. 

And, trusting, ^^kissed the book.'^ 

He took a fond farewell and went away. 

And slow the time went by — 
So weary — dreary was it, day by day 

To love, and wait, and sigh. 

83 



man's devotion 

She kissed his pictured face sometimes, and said 

^^0 Lips, so cold and dumb, 
I would that you would tell me, if not dead, 

Why, why do you not come ?^' 

The picture, smiling, stared her in the face 

Unmoved — e^en with the touch 
Of tear-drops — liers — bejewelling the case — 

^Twas plain — she loved him much. 

And, thus she grew to think of him as gay 

And joyous all the while. 
And sJie was sorrowing — "Ah, welladay V^ 

But pictures always smile ! 

And years — dull years — ^in dull monotony 

As ever went and came. 
Still weaving changes on unceasingly, 

And changing, changed her name. 

Was she untrue? — She oftentimes was glad 

And happy as a wife; 
But one remembrance oftentimes made sad 

Her matrimonial life. — 

24 



man's DEVOTION" 

Though its few years were hardly noted, when 

Again her path was strown 
With thorns — the roses swept away again, 

And she again alone ! 

And then — alas ! ah then ! — her lover came : 

^T come to claim yon now — 
My Darling, for I know you are the same, 

And I have kept my vow 

Through these long, long, long years, and now no 
more 

Shall we asundered be V^ 
She staggered back and, sinking to the Hoor, 

Cried in her agony : 

^^I have been false ?^ she moaned, "I am not true — 

I am not worthy now, 
Nor ever can I be a wife to you — 

For I have broke my vow V^ 

And as she kneeled there, sobbing at his feet. 

He calmly spoke — no sign 
Betrayed his inward agony — ^'I count you meet 

To be a wife of mine !'' 

35 



MAN S DEVOTION" 

And raised her up forgiven, thongh nntnie; 

As fond he gazed on her. 
She sighed, — '^So happy T And she never knew 

He was a widower. 



26 



A SUMMER AFTEENOON 

A LANGUID atmosphere^ a lazy breeze, 

With labored respiration, moves the wheat 

From distant reaches, till the golden seas 
Break in crisp whispers at my feet. 

My book, neglected of an idle mind. 

Hides for a moment from the eyes of men ; 

Or, lightly opened by a critic wind, 
Affrightedly reviews itself again. 

Off through the haze that dances in the shine 
The warm sun showers in the open glade. 

The forest lies, a silhouette design 

Dimmed through and through with shade. 

A dreamy day; and tranquilly I lie 

At anchor from all storms of mental strain ; 

With absent vision, gazing at the sky, 
^^Like one that hears it rain.^^ 

27 



A SUMMEE AETEEISrOON 

The Katydid, so boisterous last night. 
Clinging, inverted, in uneasy poise, 

Beneath a wheat-blade, has forgotten quite 
If ^^Katy did or didnt" make a noise. 

The twitter, sometimes, of a wayward bird 
That checks the song abruptly at the sound, 

And mildly, chiding echoes that have stirred. 
Sink into silence, all the more profound. 

'And drowsily I hear the plaintive strain 
Of some poor dove . . . Why, I can 
scarcely keep 
My heavy eyelids — there it is again — 
^^Coo-coo !^^— I mustn^t— ^^Coo-coo !^^— f all 
asleep ! 



28 



AT LAST 

A DAEK, tempestuous night; the stars shut in 
With shrouds of fog; an inky, jet-black blot 

The firmament; and where the moon has been 
An hour agone seems like the darkest spot. 

The weird wind — ^furious at its demon game — 

Eattles one^s fancy like a window-frame. 

A care-worn face peers out into the dark, 

And childish faces — frightened at the gloom — 

Grow awed and vacant as they turn to mark 
The f ather^s as he passes through the room : 

The gate-latch clatters, and wee baby Bess 

Whispers, ^^The doctor's tummin' now, I dess !'' 

The father turns; a sharp, swift flash of pain 
Flits o'er his face : ^^ Amanda, child ! I said 

A moment since — I see I must again — 
Go take your little sisters off to bed ! 

There, EflBe, Eose, and Clara mustn't cryT 

''I tan't he'p it— I'm f yaid 'at mama'U die !" 

29 



AT LAST 

What are his feelings, when this man alone 
Sits in the silence, glaring in the grate 

That sobs and sighs on in an undertone 
As stoical — immovable as Fate, 

While muffled voices from the sick one's room 

Come in like heralds of a dreaded doom? 

The door-latch jingles: in the doorway stands 
The doctor, while the draft puffs in a breath — 

The dead coals leap to life, and clap their hands. 
The flames flash up. A face as pale as death 

Turns slowly — teeth tight-clenched, and with a look 

The doctor, through his specs, reads like a book. 

^^Come, brace up, Major ?^ — ^^Let me know the worst V^ 
^Wy, you're the biggest fool I ever saw — 

Here, Major — take a little brandy first — 
There ! She's a hoy — I mean he is — ^hurrah!" 

^^Wake up the other girls — and shout for joy — 

Eureka is his name — I've found A BOY !" 



30 



MY JOLLY FEIE^^D'S SECRET 

Ah, friend of mine, how goes it 

Since you\e taken yon a mate ? — 
Yonr smile, though, plainly shows it 

Is a very happy state ! 
Dan Cnpid^s necromancy! 

You must sit yon down and dine, 
And lubricate your fancy 

With a glass or two of wine. 

And as you have ^^deserted,^^ 

As my other chums have done, 
While I laugh alone diverted. 

As you drop off one by one — 
And I\e remained unwedded. 

Till — you see — look here — that I^m, 
In a manner, ^^snatched bald-headed^^ 

By the sportive hand of Time ! 

I'm an ^^old 'un V^ yes, but wrinkles 

Are not so plenty, quite. 
As to cover up the twinkles 

Of the hoy — ain't I right ? 
31 



MY JOLLY PEIEXD's SECEET 



Yet, there are ghosts of kisses 
Under this mustache of mine 

My memory only misses 

"When I droTrn 'em out with wine. 

From acknowledgment so ample, 

Tou would hardly take me for 
What I am — a perfect sample 

Of a "^'jolly bachelor'^; 
N'ot a bachelor has being 

When he laughs at married life 
But his heart and souPs agreeing 

That he ought to have a wife ! 

Ah, ha ! old chum, this claret, 

Like Fatima, holds the key 
Of the old Blue-Beardish garret 

Of my hidden mystery ! 
Did you say you'd like to listen ? 

Ah, my boy! the '^Sa.d Xo MoreT 
And the tear-drops that will glisten — 

Turn the catch upon the door. 

And sit you down beside me. 
And put yourself at ease — 

I'll trouble you to slide me 
That wine decanter, please; 
32 



MY JOLLY FEIEND^S SECRET 

The path is kind o^ mazy 
Where my fancies have to go, 

And my heart gets sort o' lazy 
On the journey — don^t you know? 

Let me see — when I was twenty — 

It^s a lordly age, my boy. 
When a fellow^s money^s plenty. 

And the leisure to enjoy — 
And a girl — ^with hair as golden 

As — iliat; and lips — well — quite 
As red as this I^m holdin^ 

Between yon and the light. 

And eyes and a complexion — 

Ah, heavens ! — le^-me-see — 
Well, — just in this connection, — 

Did you lock that door for me? 
Did I start in recitation 

My past life to recall? 
Well, that's an indication 

I am purty tight — thafs all! 



33 



JOB WOEK 

^^Writb me a rhyme of the present time'^ : 

And the poet took his pen 
And wrote such lines as the miser minds 

Hide in the hearts of men. 

He grew enthused^ as the poets used 
When their fingers kissed the strings 

Of some sweet lyre, and caught the fire 
True inspiration brings, 

And sang the song of a nation^s wrong — 
Of the patriot^s galling chain, 

And the glad release that the angel, Peace, 
Has given him again. 

He sang the lay of religion^s sway, 
Where a hundred creeds clasp hands 

And shout in glee such a symphony 
That the whole world understands. 
34 



JOB WORK 

He struck the key of monopoly. 

And sang of her swift decay. 
And travelled the track of the railway back 

With a blithesome roundelay — 

Of the tranquil bliss of a true love kiss ; 

And painted the picture, too, 
Of the wedded life, and the patient wife. 

And the husband fond and true ; 

And sang the joy that a noble boy 

Brings to a f ather^s soul. 
Who lets the wine as a mocker shine 

Stagnated in the bowl. 

And he stabbed his pen in the ink again, 
And wrote, with a writhing frown, 

"This is the end/^ "And now, my friend, 
You may print it — ^upside down !^' 



35 



PEIVATE THEATEICALS 

A QUITE convincing axiom 
Is, "Life is like a play^^; 
For, turning back its pages some 
Pew dog-eared years away, 
I find where I 
Committed my 
Love tale — with brackets where to sigh, 

I feel an idle interest 

To read again the page; 
I enter, as a lover dressed. 
At twenty years of age. 
And play the part 
With throbbing heart, 
And all an actor^s glowing art. 

And she who plays my Lady-love 
Excels ! — ^Her loving glance 
36 



PRIVATE THEATRICALS 

Has power her audience to move — 
I am her audience. — 

Her acting tact, 

To tell the fact, 
^^Brings down the house^^ in every act. 

And often we defy the curse 

Of storms and thunder-showers. 
To meet together and rehearse 
This little play of ours — 
I think, when she 
''Makes love^^ to me. 
She kisses very naturally! 



Yes ; it^s convincing — ^rather — • 

That ''Life is like a play'' : 
I am playing "Heavy Father'' 
In a "Screaming Farce" to-day. 
That so "brings down 
The house" I frown, 
And fain would "ring the curtain down. 



J? 



37 



PLAIN SEEMONS 

I SAW a man — and envied him beside — 

Because of this world's goods he had great store ; 

But even as I envied him, he died. 
And left me envious of him no more. 

I saw another man — and envied still — 
Because he was content with frugal lot ; 

But as I envied him, the rich man's will 
Bequeathed him all, and envy I forgot. 

Yet still another man I saw, and he 
I envied for a calm and tranquil mind 

That nothing fretted in the least degree — 
Until, alas ! I found that he was blind. 

What vanity is envy! for I find 

I have been rich in dross of thought, and poor 
In that I was a fool, and lastlv blind — 

Tor neTer having seen myself before ! 

38 



^^JOHNSON^S BOY'' 

The world is turned ag'in' me, 

And people says, ^^They guess 
That nothin' else is in me 

But pure maliciousness V^ 
I git the blame for doin' 

What other chaps destroy, 
And Fm a-goin' to ruin 

Because I^m "Johnson's boy 



^y 



That ain't my name — I'd ruther 

They'd call me lice or Pat — 
But they've forgot the other — 

And so have /^ for that ! 
I reckon it's as handy, 

When Xibsy breaks his toy. 
Or some one steals his candy. 

To say 'twas '^Johnson's ioyT 
39 



"Johnson's boy^^ 



You can't git any water 

At the pump, and j3.nd the spout 
So durn chuck-full o' mortar 

That you have to bore it out; 
You tackle any scholar 

In Wisdom's wise employ, 
And Fll bet you half a dollar 

He'll say it's "Johnson's boy !" 

Folks don't know how I suffer 

In my uncomplainin' way — 
They think I'm gittin' tougher 

And tougher every day. 
Last Sunday night, when Plinder 

Was a-shoutin' out for joy, 
And some one shook the winder. 

He prayed for "Johnson's boy 



y> 



I'm tired of bein' follered 

By farmers every day. 
And then o' bein' collared 

For coaxin' hounds away ; 
Hounds always plays me double — 

It's a trick they all enjoy — 
To git me into trouble. 

Because I'm "Johnson's boy. 
40 



99 



'^JOHK-SOX'S boy'' 



But if I git to Heaven, 

I hope the Lord'll see 
Some boy has been perfect, 

And lay it on to me; 
I'll swell the song sonorous, 

And clap my wings for joy, 
And sail off on the chorus — 

^^Hurrah for ^Johnson's boy'!'' 



41 



SCRAPS 

There's a habit I have nurtured. 

From the sentimental time 
When my life was like a story, 

And my heart a happy rhjmie, — 
Of clipping from the paper, 

Or magazine, perhaps, 
The idle songs of dreamers. 

Which I treasure as my scraps. 

They hide among my letters. 

And they find a cosy nest 
In the bosom of my wrapper. 

And the pockets of my vest ; 
They clamber in my fingers 

Till my dreams of wealth relapse 
In fairer dreams than Fortune's 

Though I find them only scraps. 

Sometimes I find, in tatters 
Like a beggar, form as fair 
42 



SCRAPS 

As ever gave to Heaven 

The treasure of a prayer ; 
And words all dim and faded. 

And obliterate in part. 
Grow into fadeless meanings 

That are printed on the heart. 

Sometimes a childish jingle 

Flings an echo, sweet and clear. 
And thrills me as I listen 

To the laughs I used to hear; 
And I catch the gleam of faces. 

And the glimmer of glad eyes 
That peep at me expectant 

O^er the walls of Paradise. 

syllables of measure ! 

Though you wheel yourselves in line. 
And await the further order 

Of this eager voice of mine ; 
You are powerless to follow 

O^er the field my fancy maps, 
So I lead you back to silence 

Feeling you are only scraps. 



43 



DEAD m SIGHT OP FAME 

Died — Early morning of September 5, 1876, and in the 
gleaming daivn of ''name and fame,'' Hamilton J, Dunbar. 

Dead ! Dead ! Dead ! 

We thought him ours alone ; 
And were so proud to see him tread 
The rounds of fame, and lift his head 

Where sunlight ever shone ; 
But now our aching eyes are dim. 
And look through tears in vain for him. 

Xame ! Xame ! Name ! 

It was his diadem; 
"Not ever tarnish-taint of shame / 

Could dim its lustre — like a flame 

Eeflected in a gem, 
He wears it blazing on his brow 
Within the courts of Heaven now. 



DEAD IX SIGHT OP FAME 

Tears! Tears! Tears! 

Like dews upon the leaf 
That bursts at last — ^f rom out the years 
The blossom of a trust appears 

That blooms above the grief ; 
And mother, brother, wife, and child 
Will see it and be reconciled. 



45 



DEAD LEAVES 

As THOUGH a gj^psy maiden with dim look, 
Sat crooning by the roadside of the year, 
So, Autumn, in thy strangeness, thou art here 

To read dark fortunes for us from the book 

Of fate ; thou flingest in the crinkled brook 
The trembling maple^s gold, and frosty-clear 
Thy mocking laughter thrills the atmosphere, 

And drifting on its current calls the rook 

To other lands. As one who wades, alone. 
Deep in the dusk, and hears the minor talk 

Of distant melody, and finds the tone. 

In some weird way compelling him to stalk 

The paths of childhood over, — so I moan. 
And like a troubled sleeper, groping, walk. 



46 



NIGHT 

Funereal Darkness, drear and desolate, 

Muffles the world. The moaning of the wind 
Is piteous with sobs of saddest kind ; 

And laughter is a phantom at the gate 

Of memory. The long-neglected grate 

Within sprouts into flame and lights the mind 
With hopes and wishes long ago refined 

To ashes, — long departed friends await 

Our words of welcome : and our lips are dumb 

And powerless to greet the ones that press 
Old kisses there. The baby beats its drum, 

And fancy marches to the dear caress 
Of mother-arms, and all the gleeful hum 

Of home intrudes upon our loneliness. 



47 



OVER THE EYES OF GLADNESS 

^'The voice of One hath spoken. 
And the "bended reed is bruised — 

The golden bowl is broken, 
And the silver cord is loosed,'' 

Over the eyes of gladness 

The lids of sorrow fall. 
And the light of mirth is darkened 

Under the funeral pall. 

The hearts that throbbed with rapture 
In dreams of the future years, 

Are wakened from their slumbers. 
And their visions drowned in tears. 

Two buds on the bough in the morning- 
Twin buds in the smiling sun, 

But the frost of death has fallen 
And blighted the bloom of one. 

48 



OVER THE EYES OF GLADNESS 

One leaf of life still folded 

Has fallen from the stem. 
Leaving the symbol teaching 

There still are two of them, — 

For though — ^through Time's gradations, 
The Jiving bud may burst, — 

The withered one is gathered, 
And blooms in Heaven first. 



49 



ONLY A DEEAM 

Only a dream ! 

Her head is bent 
Over the keys of the instrument. 
While her trembling fingers go astray 
In the foolish tune she tries to play. 
He smiles in his heart, though his deep, sad eyes 
Never change to a glad surprise 
As he finds the answer he seeks confessed 
In glowing features, and heaving breast. 

Only a dream 1 

Though the fete is grand. 
And a hundred hearts at her command. 
She takes no part, for her soul is sick 
Of the Coquette^s art and the Serpent^s trick, — 
She someway feels she would like to fling 
Her sins away as a robe, and spring 
Up like a lily pure and white. 
And bloom alone for him to-night. 

50 



ONLY A DREAM 

Only a dream 

That the fancy weaves. 
The lids nnfold like the rose's leaves, 
And the upraised eyes are moist and mild 
As the prayerful eyes of a drowsy child. 
Does she remember the spell they once 
Wrought in the past a few short months ? 
Haply not — ^yet her lover's eyes 
Never change to the glad surprise. 

Only a dream ! 

He winds her form 
Close in the coil of his curving arm, 
And whirls her away in a gust of sound 
As wild and sweet as the poets found 
In the paradise where the silken tent 
Of the Persian blooms in the Orient, — 
While ever the chords of the music seem 
Whispering sadly, — ^^Only a dream!'' 



51 



SONG OF THE NEW YEAE 

I HEARD the bells at midnight 

Eing in the dawning year ; 
And above the clanging chorus 
Of the song, I seemed to hear 
A choir of mystic voices 

Flinging echoes, ringing clear. 
From a band of angels winging 
Through the haunted atmosphere : 

"Eing out the shame and sorrow. 

And the misery and sin. 
That the dawning of the morrow 
May in peace be ushered in/ 

And I thought of all the trials 

The departed years had cost. 
And the blooming hopes and pleasures 

That are withered now and lost; 
And with joy I drank the music 

52 



?^ 



SONG OF THE NEW YEAE 

Stealing o'er the feeling there 
As the spirit song came pealing 
On the silence everywhere : 

^^Eing out the shame and sorrow. 

And the misery and sin, 
That the dawning of the morrow 
May in peace be ushered in. 



}> 



And I listened as a lover 

To an utterance that flows 
In syllables like dewdrops 

From the red lips of a rose. 
Till the anthem, fainter growing. 

Climbing higher, chiming on 
Up the rounds of happy rhyming. 
Slowly vanished in the dawn : 

"Eing out the shame and sorrow. 

And the misery and sin. 
That the dawning of the morrow 
May in peace be ushered in/^ 

Then I raised my eyes to Heaven, 
And with trembling lips I pled 

For a blessing for the living 
And a pardon for the dead; 
53 



SONG OP THE NEW YEAR 

And like a ghost of music 

Slowly whispered — lowly sung — ^ 
Came the echo pure and holy 
In the happy angel tongue : 

^^Eing out the shame and sorrow. 

And the misery and sin, 
And the dawn of every morrow 
Will in peace be ushered in/^ 



U 



A LETTER TO A FEIEKD 

The past is like a story 

I have listened to in dreams 
That vanished in the glory 

Of the Morning^s early gleams; 
And — at my shadow glancing — 

I feel a loss of strength, 
As the Day of Life advancing 

Leaves it shorn of half its length. 

But it's all in vain to worry 

At the rapid race of Time — 
And he flies in such a flurry 

When I trip him with a rhyme, 
FU bother him no longer 

Than to thank you for the thought 
That ^^my fame is growing stronger 

As you really think it ought/' 
55 



A LETTER TO A FRIEND 

And though I fall below it, 

I might know as much of mirth 
To live and die a poet 

Of unacknowledged worfh; 
For Fame is but a vagrant — 

Though a loyal one and brave. 
And his laurels ne'er so fragrant 

As when scattered o'er the grave. 



56 



LINES FOE AN ALBUM 

I WOULD not trace the hackneyed phrase 
Of shallow words and empty praise, 
And prate of ^^peace^^ till one might think 
My foolish pen were drunk with ink. 
ISTor will I here the wish express 
Of ^Tlasting love and happiness/^ 
And ^^cloudless skies^^ — for after all 
"Into each life some rain must f all/^ 
— No. Keep the empty page below, 
In my remembrance, white as snow — 
Nor sigh to know the secret prayer 
My spirit hand has written there. 



57 



TO ANNIE 

When the lids of dusk are falling 

O'er the dreamy eyes of day, 
And the whippoorwills are calling, 

And the lesson laid away, — 
May Memory soft and tender 

As the prelnde of the night, 
Bend over yon and render 

As tranquil a delight. 



58 



THE HAEP OF THE MINSTEEL 

The harp of the minstrel has never a tone 

As sad as the song in his bosom to-night, 
For the magical touch of his fingers alone 

Can not waken the echoes that breathe it aright; 
But oh ! as the smile of the moon may impart 

A sorrow to one in an alien clime, 
Let the light of the melody fall on the heart. 

And cadence his grief into musical rhyme. 

The faces have faded, the eyes have grown dim 

That once were his passionate love and liis pride ; 
And alas ! all the smiles that once blossomed for him 

Have fallen away as the flowers have died. 
The hands that entwined him the laureate's wreath 

And crowned him with fame in the long, long ago. 
Like the laurels are withered and folded beneath 

The grass and the stubble — ^the frost and the snow. 

59 



THE HARP OF THE MINSTREL 

Then sigh, if thou wilt, as the whispering strings 

Strive ever in vain for the utterance clear. 
And think of the sorrowful spirit that sings. 

And Jewel the song wdth the gem of a tear. 
For the harp of the minstrel has never a tone 

As sad as the song in his bosom to-night, 
And the magical touch of his fingers alone 

Can not waken the echoes that breathe it aright. 



60 



JOHN WALSH 

A STEANGE life — strangely passed ! 
We may not read the soul 
When God has folded up the scroll 
In death at last. 
We may not — dare not say of one 
Whose task of life as well was done 
As he could do it, — "This is lost, 
And prayers may never pay the cost/^ 

Who listens to the song 

That sings within the breast. 
Should ever hear the good expressed 
Above the wrong. 
And he who leans an eager ear 
To catch the discord, he will hear 
The echoes of his own weak heart 
Beat out the most discordant part. 
61 



JOHN WALSH 

Whose tender heart could build 
Affection^s bower above 
A heart where baby nests of love 
Were ever filled^ — 
With u^pward growth may reach and twine 
About the children, grown divine, 
That once were his a time so brief 
His very joy wbs more than grief. 

Sorrow— 'Teace, be still V' 

God reads the riddle right; 

And we who grope in constant night 
But serve His will ; 
And when sometime the doubt is gone. 
And darkness blossoms into dawn, — 
^'God keeps the good,^^ we then will say: 
^^ ^Tis but the dross He throws away/^ 



63 



THAT OTHEE MAUD MULLER 

Maud Mullee worked at making hay. 
And cleared her forty cents a day. 

Her clothes were coarse, but her health was j&ne, 
And so she worked in the sweet sunshine 

Singing as glad as a bird in May 
"^^Barbara AUen^^ the livelong day. 

She often glanced at the f ar-oS town. 
And wondered if eggs were up or down. 

And the sweet song died of a strange disease, 
Leaving a phantom taste of cheese. 

And an appetite and a nameless ache 
For soda-water and ginger cake. 

The Judge rode slowly into view — 
Stopped his horse in the shade and drew 

63 



THAT OTHER MAUD MULLER 

His fine-cut out, while the blushing Maud 
Marvelled much at the kind he ^^chawed/^ 



He was dry as a fish/^ he said with a wink, 
And kind o^ thought that a good square drink 



a 



Would brace him up/^ So the cup was filled 
With the crystal wine that old spring spilled ; 

And she gave it him with a sun-browned hand, 
^'Thanks/^ said the Judge in accents bland ; 

"A thousand thanks ! for a sweeter draught, 
"From a fairer hand'^ — ^but there he laughed. 

And the sweet girl stood in the sun that day. 
And raked the Judge instead of the hay. 



64 



A MAN OP MANY PARTS 

It was a man of many parts, 

Who in his coffer mind 
Had stored the Classics and the Arts 

And Sciences combined; 
The purest gems of poesy 

Came flashing from his pen — 
The wholesome truths of History 

He gave his fellow men. 

He knew the stars from ^^Dog'^ to Mars ; 

And he could tell you, too, 
Their distances — as though the cars 

Had often checked him through — 
And time ^twould take to reach the sun. 

Or by the '^Milky Way/' 
Drop in upon the moon, or run 

The homeward trip, or stay. 
65 



A MAN OF MANY PAETS 

With Logic at his fingers' ends, 

Theology in mind, 
He often entertained his friends 

Until they died resigned ; 
And with inquiring mind intent 

Upon Alchemic arts 
A dynamite experiment — 



A man of many parts ! 



m 



A DEEAM OF LONG AGO 

Lying listless in the mosses 
Underneatli a tree that tosses 
Flakes of sunshine, and embosses 

Its green shadow with the snow — 
Prowsy-e3^ed, I sink in slnmber 
Born of fancies withont nnmber — 
Tangled fancies that encnmber 

Me with dreams of long ago. 

Eipples of the river singing; 
And the water-lilies swinging 
Bells of Parian^ and ringing 

Peals of perfume faint and fine, 
While old fornis and fairy faces 
Leap from out their hiding-places 
In the past, with glad embraces 

Fraught with kisses sweet as wine. 
67 



A DREAM OF LONG AGO 

Willows dip their slender fingers 
O^er the little fisher's stringers, 
While he baits his hook and lingers 

Till the shadows gather dim ; 
And afar off comes a calling 
Like the sounds of water falling. 
With the lazy echoes drawling 

Messages of haste to him. 

Little naked feet that tinkle 

Through the stubble-fields, and twinkle 

Down the winding road, and sprinkle 

Little mists of dusty rain, 
While in pasture-lands the cattle 
Cease their grazing with a rattle 
Of the bells whose clappers tattle 

To their masters down the lane. 

Trees that hold their tempting treasures 
O'er the orchard's hedge embrasures. 
Furnish their forbidden pleasures 

As in Eden lands of old ; 
And the coming of the master 
Indicates a like disaster 
To the frightened heart that faster 

Beats pulsations manifold. 
68 



A DREAM OF LONG AGO 

Puckered lips whose pipings tingle 
In staccato notes that mingle 
Musically with the jingle- 
Haunted winds that lightly fan 
Mellow twilights, crimson-tinted 
By the sun, and picture-printed 
Like a book that sweetly hinted 
Of the K'ights x^irabian. 

Porticos with columns plaited 

And entwined with vines and freighted 

With a bloom all radiated 

AYith the light of moon and star ; 
Where some tender voice is winging 
In sad flights of song, and singing 
To the dancing fingers flinging 

Dripping from the sweet guitar. 

Would my dreams were never taken 
From me : that with faith unshaken 
I might sleep and never waken 

On a weary world of woe ! 
Links of love would never sever 
As I dreamed them, never, never ! 
I would glide along forever 

Through the dreams of long ago. 
69 



WASH LOWEY^S EEMIXISCEXCE 

AxD j^oii^re the poet of this concern? 

l\e seed j^our name in print 
A dozen times, but I'll be dern 

I'd ^a^ never ^a' took the hint 
0' the size you air — fer I'd pictured you 

A kind of a tallish man — 
Dark-complected and sailor too. 

And on the consumpted plan. 

'Stid o' that you're little and small. 

With a milk-and-water face — 
'Thout no snap in your eyes at all, 

Er nothin' to suit the case ! 
Kind o' look like a — I don't know — 

One o' these fair-ground chaps 
That runs a thingamajig to blow, 

Er a candy-stand perhaps. 
70 



WASH lowry's reminiscence 



^Ll I've alius thought that poetry 

Wa^ a sort of a< — some disease — 
Fer I knowed a poet once, and he 

Was techy and hard to please, 
And moody-like, and kind o' sad 

And didn't seem to mix 
With other folks — like his health was bad, 

Er his liver out o' fix. 

Used to teach fer a livelihood — 

There's folks in Pipe Crick yit 
Remembers him — and he was good 

At cipherin' I'll admit — 
And posted up in G'ography 

But when it comes to tact. 
And gittin' along with the school, you see, 

He fizzled, and that's a fact ! 

Boarded with us fer fourteen months 

And in all that time I'll say 
We never catched him a-sleepin' once 

Er idle a single day. 
But shucks ! It made him worse and worse 

A-writin' rhymes and stuff. 
And the school committee used to furse 

'At the school warn't good enough, 

n 



WASH lowey's reminiscence 



He warn^t as strict as he ought to been. 

And never was known to whip, 
Er even to keep a scholard in 

At work at his penmanship ; 
'Stid o' that he^d learn ^em notes. 

And have ^em ever' day, 
Spilin' hymns and a-splittin' th'oats 

With his ^'Do-sol-fa-me-ra!'' 

Tell finally it was jest agreed 

We'd have to let him go. 
And we all felt bad — ^we did indeed. 

When we come to tell him so ; 
Fer I remember, he turned so white. 

And smiled so sad, somehow, 
I some way felt it wam't right. 

And I'm shore it warn't now ! 

He hadn't no complaints at all — 

He bid the school adieu. 
And all o' the scholards great and small 

Was mighty sorry too ! 
And when he closed that afternoon 

They sung some lines that he 
Had writ a purpose, to some old tune 

That suited the case, you see. 



WASH LOWEY^'S EEMINISCEXCE 



And then he lingered and delayed 

And wouldn^t go away — 
And shet himself in his room and stayed 

A-writin' from day to day ; 
And kep^ a-gittin' stranger still, 

And thinner all the time. 
Yon know, as any feller will 

On nothin' else but rhyme. 

He didn't seem adzactly right, 

Er like he was crossed in love, 
He'd work away night after night. 

And walk the floor above ; 
\Ye'd hear him read and talk, and sing 

So lonesome-like and low, 
My woman's cried like everything — 

'Way in the night, you know. 

And when at last he tuck to bed 

He'd have his ink and pen; 
^^So's he could coat the muse," he said, 

^^He'd die contented then"; 
And jest before he past away 

He read with dyin' gaze 
The epitaph that stands to-day 

To show you where he lays. 
73 



WASH LOWRY^S REMINISCENCE 



And ever sence then IVe alius thought 

That poetry^s some disease, 
And them like you that^s got it ought 

To watch their q's and p's ; 
And leave the sweets of rhyme, to sup 

On the wholesome draughts of toil. 
And git your health recruited up 

By plow in' in rougher soil. 



74 



THE ANCIENT PEINTEEMAN 

^'0 Peintekman of sallow face. 
And look of absent guile. 

Is it the '^copy' on your ^case' 
That causes you to smile ? 

Or is it some old treasure scrap 
You cull from Memory^s file ? 

^^1 fain would guess its mystery — ' 

For often I can trace 
A fellow dreamer^s history 

Whene'er it haunts the face; 
Your fancy's running riot 

In a retrospective race ! 

"^^Ah^ Printerman^ you're straying 
Afar from *^stick' and type — 

Your heart has ^gone a-majdng/ 
And you taste old kisses, ripe 

Again on lips that pucker 
At your old asthmatic pipe ! 
75 



THE ANCIENT PRINTERMAN 



<c 



You are dreaming of old pleasures 
That have faded from your view ; 

And the music-burdened measures 
Of the laughs you listen to 

Are now but angel-echoes — 
0, have I spoken true ?'^ 

The ancient Printer hinted 
With a motion full of grace 

To where the words were printed 
On a card above his ^^case/^ — 

^'I am deaf and dumb V^ I left him 
With a smile upon his face. 



76 



WHEN MOTHEE COMBED MY HAIR 

When Memory, with gentle hand. 
Has led me to that foreign land 
Of childhood days, I long to be 
Again the boy on bended knee, 
With head a-bow, and drowsy smile 
Hid in a mother^s lap the while, 
With tender touch and kindly care. 
She bends above and combs my hair. 

Ere threats of Time, or ghosts of cares 
Had paled it to the hue it wears. 
Its tangled threads of amber light 
Fell o'er a forehead, fair and white. 
That only knew the light caress 
Of loving hands, or sudden press 
Of kisses that were sifted there 
The times when mother combed my hair. 
77 



WHEN MOTHER COMBED MY HAIR 

But its last gleams of gold have slipped 

Away; and Sorrow^s manuscript 

Is fashioned of the snowy brow — 

So lined and underscored now 

That you, to see it, scarce would guess 

It e'er had felt the fond caress 

Of loving lips, or known the care 

Of those dear hands that combed my hair. 

I am so tired ! Let me be 
A moment at my mother's knee ; 
One moment — that I may forget 
The trials waiting for me yet : 
One moment free from every pain — 
! Mother ! Comb my hair again ! 
And I will, oh, so humbly bow. 
For I've a wife that combs it now. 



18 



GEOEGE MULLEN^S CONFESSION 

Foe the sake of guilty conscience, and the heart that 

ticks the time 
Of the clockworks of my nature^ I desire to say that I'm 
A weak and sinful creature, as regards my daily walk 
The last five years and better. It ain't worth while to 

talk— 

I've been too mean to tell it ! I've been so hard, you see, 
And full of pride, and — onry — now there's the word for 

me — 
Just onry — and to show you, I'll give my history 
With vital points in question, and I tliink you'll all 

agree. 

I was always stiff and stubborn since I could recollect, 
And had an awful temper, and never would reflect ; 
And always into trouble — I remember once at school 
The teacher tried to flog me, and I reversed that rule. 

79 



GEORGE Mullen's confession 

I was bad, I tell yon ! And if s a funny move 
That a fellow wild as I was could ever fall in love ; 
And it's a funny notion that an animal like me, 
Under a girl's weak fingers was as tame as tame could be ! 

But it's so, and sets me thinking of the easy way she had 
Of cooling down my temper — ^though I'd be fighting mad. 
^^My Lion Queen" I called her — when a spell of mine 

occurred 
She'd come in a den of feelings and quell them with a 

word. 

I'll tell you how she loved me — and what her people 

thought : 
When I asked to marry Annie they said ^^they reckoned 

not — 
That I cut too many didoes and monkey-shines to suit 
Their idea of a son-in-law, and I could go, to boot !" 

1 tell you that thing riled me ! Why, I felt my face turn 

white. 
And my teeth shut like a steel trap, and the fingers of 

my right 
Hand pained me with their pressure — all the rest's a 

mystery 
Till I heard my Annie saying — "I'm going, too, you see 

80 



?? 



GEOEGE Mullen's confession 

We were coming through the gateway^ and she wavered 

for a spell 
When she heard her mother crying and her raving father 

yell 

That she warn^t no child of his'n — like an actor in a play 
We saw at Independence^ coming through the other day. 

Well ! that's the way we started. And for days and weeks 

and months 
And even years we journeyed on, regretting never once 
Of starting out together upon the path of life — 
A kind o' sort o' husband, but a mighty loving wife, — 

And the cutest little baby — ^little Grace — I see her now 
A-standin' on the pig-pen as her mother milked the 

cow — 
And I can hear her shouting — as I stood unloading 

straw, — 
I'm ain't as big as papa, but I'm biggerest'n ma." 



CiT^ 



IsTow folks that never married don't seem to understand 
That a little baby's language is the sweetest ever 

planned — 
Why, I tell you it's pure music, and I'll just go on to say 
That I sometimes have a notion that the angels talk that 

way! 

81 



GEOEGE MULLEN^S CONFESSION" 

There^s a chapter in this story I^d be happy to destroy; 
I could burn it up before you with a mighty sight of joy ; 
But 1^11 go ahead and give it — not in detail^ no, my 

friend, 
For it takes five years of reading before you find the end. 

My Annie's folks relented — at least, in some degree ; 
They sent one time for Annie, but they didn't send forme. 
The old man wrote the message with a heart as hot and dry 
As a furnace — "Annie Mullen, come and see your mother 
die.'' 

I saw the slur intended — why I fancied I could see 
The old man shoot the insult like a poison dart at me ; 
And in that heat of passion I swore an inward oath 
That if Annie pleased her father she could never please 
us both. 

I watched her — dark and sullen— as she hurried on her 
shawl ; 

I watched her — calm and cruel, though I saw her tear- 
drops fall ; 

I watched her — cold and heartless, though I heard her 
moaning, call 

For mercy from high Heaven — and I smiled throughout 
it all. 

83 



GEORGE MULLEN^S CONFESSION 

Why even when she kissed me, and her tears were on my 

brow, 
x\s she murmured, ^^George, forgive me — I must go to 

mother now V' 
Such hate there was within me that I answered not at all, 
But calm, and cold and cruel, I smiled throughout it all. 

But a shadow in the doorway caught my eye, and then 

the face 
Full of innocence and sunshine of little baby Grace. 
And I snatched her up and kissed her, and I softened 

through and through 
For a minute when she told me ^^I must kiss her muwer 

too.^^ 

I remember, at the starting, how I tried to freeze again 
As I watched them slowly driving down the little crooked 

lane — 
When Annie shouted something that ended in a cry^ 
And how I tried to whistle and it fizzled in a sigh. 

I remember running after, with a glimmer in my sight — 
Pretending I'd discovered that the traces wasn't right ; 
And the last that I remember, as they disappeared from 

view. 
Was little Grace a-calling, ^"^I see papa ! Howdy-do !'' 

83 



GEORGE Mullen's confession 

And left alone to ponder, I again took up my hate 

For the old man who would chuckle that I was desolate ; 

And I mouthed my wrongs in mutters till my pride 

called up the pain 
His last insult had given me — until I smiled again 

Till the wild beast in my nature was raging in its den — 
With no one now to quell it, and I wrote a letter then 
Full of hissing things, and heated with so hot a heat of 

hate 
That my pen flashed out black lightning at a most ter- 
rific rate. 

I wrote that ^^she had wronged me when she went away 
from me — 

Though to see her dying mother ^twas her father^s vic- 
tory. 

And a woman that could waver when her husband's 
pride was rent 

Was no longer worthy of it/' And I shut the house and 
went. 

To tell of my long exile would be of little good — 
Though I couldn't half-way tell it, and I wouldn't if I 
could ! 

84 



GEORGE Mullen's confession 

I could tell of California — of a wild and vicious life ; 
Of trackless plains, and mountains, and the Indian's 
scalping-knife. 

I could tell of gloomy forests howling wild with threats 

of death; 
I could tell of fiery deserts that have scorched me with 

their breath ; 
I could tell of wretched outcasts by the hundreds, great 

and small, 
And could claim the nasty honor of the greatest of them 

all. 

I could tell of toil and hardship; and of sickness and 

disease. 
And hollow-eyed starvation, but I tell you, friend, that 

these 
Are trifles in comparison with what a fellow feels 
With that bloodhound, Eemorsefulness, forever at his 

heels. 

I remember — worn and weary of the long, long years of 

care. 
When the frost of time was making early harvest of my 

hair — 

85 



GEORGE MULLEN^S CONFESSION 

I remember, wrecked and hopeless of a rest beneath the 

Bky, 
My resolve to quit the country, and to seek the East, 
and die. 

I remember my long journey, like a dull, oppressive 

dream, 
Across the empty prairies till I caught the distant gleam 
Of a city in the beauty of its broad and shining stream 
On whose bosom, flocked together, float the mighty 

swans of steam. 

I remember drifting with them till I found myself again 
In the rush and roar and rattle of the engine and the 

train; 
And when from my surroundings something spoke of 

child and wife. 
It seemed the train was rumbling through a tunnel in 

my life. 

Then I remember something — like a sudden burst of 

light- 
That don't exactly tell it, but I couldn't tell it right — 
A something clinging to me with its arms around my 

neck — 
A little girl, for instance — or an angel, I expect — 

86 



GEORGE Mullen's confession 



>? 



For she kissed me, cried and called me ^^her dear papa, 

and I felt 
My heart was pure virgin gold, and Just about to melt — 
And so it did — it melted in a mist of gleaming rain 
When she took my hand and whispered, ^^my mama's 

on the train." 

There's some things I can dwell on, and get off pretty 

well, 
But the balance of this story I know I couldn't tell ; 
So I ain't going to try it, for to tell the reason why — 
I'm so chicken-hearted lately I'd be certain 'most to cry. 



87 



"Tired out ?^ Yet face and brow 
Do not look aweary now, 
And the eyelids lie like two 
Pure, white rose-leaves washed with dew. 
Was her life so hard a task ? — 
Strange that we forget to ask 
What the lips now dumb for aye 
Could have told us yesterday ! 

"Tired out V^ A faded scrawl 
Pinned upon the ragged shawl — 
Kothing else to leave a clew 
Even of a friend or two. 
Who might come to fold the hands. 
Or smooth back the dripping strands 
Of her tresses, or to wet 
Them anew with fond regret. 
88 



^^TIRED OUT^' 



^^Tired out ?^ We can but guess 
Of her little happiness — 
Long ago, in some fair land. 
When a lover held her hand 
In the dream that frees us all. 
Soon or later, from its thrall — 
Be it either false or true, 
We, at last, must tire, too. 



89 



HAELIE 

Fold the little waxen hands 
Lightly. Let your warmest tears 
Speak regrets, but never fears, — 

Heaven understands ! 
Let the sad heart, o'er the tomb, 
Lift again and burst in bloom 
Fragrant with a prayer as sweet 
As the lily at your feet. 

Bend and kiss the folded eyes — 
They are only feigning sleep 
While their truant glances peep 

Into Paradise. 
See, the face, though cold and white. 
Holds a hint of some delight 
E'en with Death, whose finger-tips 
Best upon the frozen lips. 
90 



HAELIE 

When, within the years to come, 
Vanished echoes live once more — 
Pattering footsteps on the floor, 

And the sounds of home, — 
Let your arms in fancy fold 
Little Harlie as of old — 
As of old and as he waits 
At the City^s golden gates. 



n 



A TEST OP LOVE 

''Now who shall say he loves me noV* 

He wooed her first in an atmosphere 

Of tender and low-breathed sighs ; 
But the pang of her laugh went cutting clear 

To the soul of the enterprise ; 
"You beg so pert for the kiss you seek 

It reminds me^ John/^ she said, 
"Of a poodle pet that jumps to ^speak^ 

For a crumb or a crust of bread/^ 

And flashing up, with the blush that flushed 

His face like a tableau light. 
Came a bitter threat that his white lips hushed 

To a chill, hoarse-voiced "Good night !^^ 
And again her laugh, like a knell that tolled. 

And a wide-eyed mock surprise, — 
"Why, John,^^ she said, "you have taken cold 

In the chill air of your sighs !^' 

92 



A TEST OF LOVE 

And then he turned, and with teeth tight-clenched. 

He told her he hated her, — 
That his love for her from his heart he wrenched 

Like a corpse from a sepnlcher. 
And then she called him ^^A ghoul all red 

With the quintessence of crimes^^ — 
"But I know you love me now,'^ she said, 

And kissed him a hundred times. 



93 



FATHEE WILLIAM 

A NEW VERSION BY LEE 0. HAEEIS AND JAMES 
WHITCOMB EILEY 

^Tou are old, Father William, and though one would 
think 

All the veins in your body were dry. 
Yet the end of your nose is red as a pink ; 

I beg your indulgence, but why ?^' 

^^You see,'^ Father William replied, ^^in my youth — ^ 

^Tis a thing I must ever regret — 
It worried me so to keep up with the truth 

That my nose has a flush on it yet. 



}> 



^TTou are old,^^ said the youth, ^^and I grieve to detect 

A feverish gleam in your eye; 
Yet I^m willing to give you full time to reflect. 

Now, pray, can you answer me why ?^' 



iC 



Alas,'' said the sage, ^T was tempted to choose 
Me a wife in my earlier years, 

94 



FATHER WILLIAM 

And the grief, when I think that she didn't refuse, 
Has reddened my eyelids with tears/' 

"You are old, Father William/' the young man said, 
"And you never touch wine, you declare, 

Yet you sleep with your feet at the head of the bed ; 
Now answer me that if you dare." 

"In my youth," said the sage, "I was told it was true 
That the world turned around in the night ; 

I cherished the lesson, my boy, and I knew 
That at morning my feet would be right." 

"You are old," said the youth, "and it grieved me to note^ 

As you recently fell through the door, 
That ^f uU as a goose' had been chalked on your coat ; 

Now answer me that, I implore." 

"My boy," said the sage, "I have answered you fair, 

While you stuck to the point in dispute. 
But this is a personal matter, and there 

Is my answer — the toe of my boot." 



95 



MOETON" 

The warm pulse of the nation has grown chill; 

The muffled heart of Freedom, like a knell. 
Throbs solemnly for one whose earthly will 

Wrought every mission well. 

Whose glowing reason towered above the sea 

Of dark disaster like a beacon light, 
And led the Ship of State, unscathed and free. 

Out of the gulfs of night. 

When Treason, rabid-mouthed, and f anged with steel, 
Lay growling o'er the bones of fallen braves, 

And when beneath the tyrant's iron heel 
Were ground the hearts of slaves, 

And War, with all his train of horrors, leapt 

Across the fortress-walls of Liberty 
With havoc, e'en the marble goddess wept 

With tears of blood to see. 

96 



MORTON 

Throughout it all his brave and kingly mind 
Kept loyal vigil o^er the patriots vow. 

And yet the flag he lifted to the wind 
Is drooping o^er him now. 

And Peace, all pallid from the battle-field 
When first again it hovered o^er the land 

And found his voice above it like a shield, 
Had nestled in his hand. 



throne of State and gilded Senate halls — 

Though thousands throng your aisles and galleries — 

How empty are ye ! and what silence falls 
On your hilarities ! 

And yet, though great the loss to us appears, 
The consolation sweetens all our pain — 

Though hushed the voice, through all the coming years 
Its echoes will remain. 



97 



A?T AUTUMNAL EXTRAVAGANZA 

With a sweeter voice than birds 

Dare to twitter in their sleep. 
Pipe for me a tune of words. 

Till my dancing fancies leap 
Into freedom vaster far 
Than the realms of Eeason are ! 
Sing for me with wilder fire 

Than the lover ever sung, 
From the time he twanged the lyre 

When the world was baby-yonng. 

my maiden Autumn, yon — 

Yon have filled me through and through 

With a passion so intense. 

All of earthly eloquence 

Fails, and falls, and swoons away 
In your presence. Like as one 
Who essays to look the sun 
98 



AN AUTUMNAL EXTRAVAGANZA 

Fairly in the face, I say, 
Though my eyes you dazzle blind 
Greater dazzled is my mind. 
So, my Autumn, let me kneel 

At your feet and worship you ! 
Be my sweetheart ; let me feel 

Your caress ; and tell me too 
Why your smiles bewilder me — 
Glancing into laughter, then 
Trancing into calm again. 
Till your meaning drowning lies 
In the dim depths of your eyes. 
Let me see the things you see 
Down the depths of mystery! 
Blow aside the hazy veil 

From the daylight of your face 
With the fragrance-ladened gale 

Of your spicy breath and chase 

Every dimple to its place. 
Lift your gypsy finger-tips 
To the roses of your lips. 
And fling down to me a bud — 

But an unblown kiss — ^but one — 
It shall blossom in my blood. 

Even after life is done — 
99 



AN AUTUMNAL EXTRAVAGANZA 

When I dare to touch the brow 
Yonr rare hair is veiling now — 
When the rich, red-golden strands 
Of the treasure in my hands 
Shall be all of worldly worth 
Heaven lifted from the earth, 
Like a banner to have set 
On its highest minaret. 



100 



THE MEEMAN" 



Who would be 
A merman gay. 
Singing alone, 
Sitting alone, 
With a mermaid^s knee, 
Eor instance — hey — 
For a throne? 

II 

I would be a merman gay; 

I would sit and sing the whole day long; 
I would fill my lungs with the strongest brine, 

And squirt it up in a spray of song. 
And soak my head in my liquid voice ; 

I^d curl my tail in curves divine. 
And let each curve in a kink rejoice. 

101 



THE MEEMAN 

I'd tackle the mermaids under the sea. 
And yank 'em around till they yanked me. 

Sportively, sportively ; 
And then we would wiggle away, away, 
To the pea-green groves on the coast of day, 

Chasing each other sportively. 

Ill 

There would be neither moon nor star; 

But the waves would twang like a wet guitar — 

Low thunder and thrum in the darkness grum — 

Neither moon nor star ; 
We would shriek aloud in the dismal dales — 
Shriek at each other and squawk and squeal, 

^^All night!" rakishly, rakishly; 
They would pelt me with oysters and wiggletails, 
Laughing and clapping their hands at me, 

^^All night !'' prankishly, prankishly ; 
But I would toss them back in mine, 
Lobsters and turtles of quaint design; 
Then leaping out in an abrupt way, 
Pd snatch them bald in my devilish glee. 
And skip away when they snatched at me. 

Fiendishly, fiendishly. 
102 



THE MEEMAN 



0, what a jolly life I^d lead, 
Ah, what a ^T)ang-iip^^ life indeed! 
Soft are the mermaids under the sea- 
We would live merrily, merrily. 



103 



A SUMMEE SUNRISE 

AFTER LEE 0. HARRIS 

The master-hand whose pencils trace 

This wondrous landscape of the morn, 
Is but the sun, whose glowing face 
Eeflects the rapture and the grace 
Of inspiration Heaven-born. 

And yet with vision-dazzled eyes, 

I see the lotos-lands of old. 
Where odorous breezes fall and rise. 
And mountains, peering in the skies, 

Stand ankle-deep in lakes of gold. 

And, spangled with the shine and shade, 

I see the rivers ravelled out 
In strands of silver, slowly fade 
In threads of light along the glade 

Where truant roses hide and pout, 
104 



A SUMMER SUNRISE 

The tamarind on gleaming sands 

Droops drowsily beneath the heat; 
And bowed as though aweary, stands 
The stately palm, with lazy hands 

That fold their shadows round his feet. 

And mistily, as through a veil, 

I catch the glances of a sea 
Of sapphire, dimpled with a gale 
Toward Colchis blowing, where the sail 

Of Jason^s Argo beckons me. 

And gazing on and farther yet, 

I see the isles enchanted, bright 
With fretted spire and parapet. 
And gilded mosque and minaret. 
That glitter in the crimson light. 

But as I gaze, the city's walls 
Are keenly smitten with a gleam 

Of pallid splendor, that appalls 

The fancy as the ruin falls 
In ashen embers of a dream. 



105 



A SUMMER SUNRISE 

Yet over all the waking earth 

The tears of night are brushed away. 
And eyes are lit with love and mirth, 
And benisong of richest worth 

Gro up to bless the new-born day. 



106 



AN OLD YEAE'S ADDEESS 

•^I HAVE twankled the strings of the tTdnkering rain; 
I have burnished the meteor's mail ; 
I have bridled the wind 
When he whinnied and whined 
With a bunch of stars tied to his tail ; 
But my sky-rocket hopes, hanging over the past, 
Must fuzzle and f azzle and fizzle at last V^ 

I had waded far out in a drizzling dream, 
And my fancies had spattered my eyes 
With a vision of dread, 
With a number ten head. 
And a form of diminutive size — 
That wavered and wagged in a singular way 
As he wound himself up and proceeded to say, — 

^^I have trimmed all my corns with the blade of the moon ; 

I have picked every tooth with a star : 

107 



^y 



AN OLD YEAR S ADDRESS 

And I thrill to recall 

That I went through it all 
Like a tune through a tickled guitar. 
I have ripped up the rainbow and ravelled the ends 
When the sun and myself were particular friends. 

And pausing again, and producing a sponge 
And wiping the tears from his eyes, 
He sank in a chair 
With a technical air 
That he struggled in vain to disguise, — 
For a sigh that he breathed, as I over him leant. 
Was haunted and hot with a peppermint scent. 

^^Alas ?^ he continued in quavering tones 
As a pang rippled over his face, 
^"^The life was too fast 
For the pleasure to last 
In my very unfortunate case; 
And I^m going'' — ^he said, as he turned to adjust 
A fuse in his bosom,— ^^'m going to— BUST V' 

I shrieked and awoke with the sullen che-boom 
Of a five-pounder filling my ears ; 

108 



AN OLD year's ADDRESS 

And a roseate bloom 

Of a light in the room 
I saw through the mist of my tears, — 
But my guest of the night never saw the display. 
He had fuzzled and fazzled and fizzled away! 



109 



A NEW YEAE^S PLAINT 



"In words like weeds, FIT wrap me o'er, 

Like coarsest clothes against the cold; 

But that large grief which these enfold 

Is given in outline and no more,'' 

— Tennyson. 



The bells that lift their yawning throats 

And lolling tongues with wrangling cries 
Elung lip in harsh, discordant notes, 

As though in anger, at the skies, — 
Are filled with echoings replete. 

With purest tinkles of delight — 
So I would have a sometliing sweet 

Eing in the song I sing to-night. 

As when a blotch of ugly guise 
On some poor artist's naked floor 

Becomes a picture in his eyes, 
And he forgets that he is poor, — 
IIQ 



A NEW YEAe's plaint 

So I look out upon the night, 
That ushers in the dawning year, 

And in a vacant blur of light 
I see these fantasies appear. 

I see a home whose windows gleam 

Like facets of a mighty gem 
That some poor king^s distorted dream 

Has fastened in his diadem. 
And I behold a throng that reels 

In revelry of dance and mirth, 
With hearts of love beneath their heels. 

And in their bosoms hearts of earth. 

Luxury, as false and grand 

As in the mystic tales of old. 
When genii answered man's command, 

And built of nothing halls of gold ! 
Banquet, bright with pallid jets, 

And tropic blooms, and vases caught 
In palms of naked statuettes, 

Ye can not color as ye ought ! 

For, crouching in the storm without, 
I see the figure of a child, 
111 



A NEW year's plaint 

In little ragged roundabout. 

Who stares with eyes that never smiled — 
And he, in fancy can but taste 

The dainties of the kingly fare. 
And pick the crumbs that go to waste 

Where none have learned to kneel in prayer. 

Go, Pride, and throw your goblet down — 

The ^%erry greeting" best appears 
On loving lips that never drown 

Its worth but in the wine of tears; 
Go, close your cofEers like your hearts. 

And shut your hearts against the poor. 
Go, strut through all your pretty parts. 

But take the "Welcome" from your door. 



112 



LUTHEE BENSON 

AFTER EEADING HIS AUTOBIOGEAPHY 

Poor victim of that vulture curse 
That hovers o'er the universe. 
With ready talons quick to strike 
In every human heart alike. 
And cruel beak to stab and tear 
In virtue's vitals everywhere, — 
You need no sympathy of mine 
To aid you, for a strength divine 
Encircles you, and lifts you clear 
Above this earthly atmosphere. 

And yet I can but call you poor. 
As, looking through the open door 
Of your sad life, I only see 
A broad landscape of misery. 
And catch through mists of pitying tears 
The ruins of your younger years: 
I see a father's shielding arm 
113 



LUTHER BENSON 

Thrown round you in a wild alarm — 
Struck down^ and powerless to free 
Or aid you in your agony. 

I see a happy home grow dark 

And desolate — the latest spark 

Of hope is passing in eclipse — 

The prayer upon a mother^s lips 

Has fallen with her latest breath 

In ashes on the lips of death — 

I see a penitent who reels. 

And writhes, and clasps his hands, and kneels. 

And moans for mercy for the sake 

Of that fond heart he dared to break. 

And lo! as when in Galilee 
A voice above the troubled sea 
Commanded ^Teace ; be still V^ the flood 
That rolled in tempest waves of blood 
Within you, fell in calm so sweet 
It ripples round the Saviour's feet; 
And all your nobler nature thrilled 
With brightest hope and faith, and filled 
Your thirsty soul with joy and peace 
And praise to Him who gave release. 



WHEN EVENING SHADOWS FALL 

When evening shadows fall. 

She hangs her cares away 
Like empty garments on the wall 

That hides her from the day ; 
And while old memories throng. 

And vanished voices call, 
She lifts her grateful heart in song 

When evening shadows fall. 

Her weary hands forget 

The burdens of the day. 
The weight of sorrow and regret 

In music rolls away; 
And from the day's dull tomb, 

That holds her in its thrall, 
Her soul springs up in lily-bloom 

When evening shadows fall. 
115 



WHEN EVENING SHADOWS FALL 

weary heart and hand. 

Go bravely to the strife — 
'No victory is half so grand 

As that which conquers life ! 
One day shall yet be thine — 

The day that waits for all 
Whose prayerful eyes are things divine 

When evening shadows fall. 



116 



A FAXTASY 

A FANTASY that came to me 
As wild and wantonly designed 

As ever any dream might be 

Unravelled from a madman's mind,- 

A tangle-work of tissue^ wrought 
By cunning of the spider-brain. 
And woven, in an hour of pain. 

To trap the giddy flies of thought. 

I stood beneath a summer moon 
All swollen to uncanny girth. 

And hanging, like the sun at noon. 
Above the center of the earth; 
But with a sad and sallow light, 
As it had sickened of the night 

And fallen in a pallid swoon. 

Around me I could hear the rush 
Of sullen winds, and feel the whir 

Of unseen wings apast me brush 
117 



A FANTASY 

Like phantoms round a sepnlcher; 
And, like a carpeting of plush, 
A lawn unrolled beneath my feet. 
Bespangled o^er with flowers as sweet 
To look upon as those that nod 
Within the garden-fields of God, 
But odorless as those that blow 
In ashes in the shades below. 

And on my hearing fell a storm 

Of gusty music, sadder yet 

Than every whimper of regret 
That sobbing utterance could form, 

And patched with scraps of sound that seemed 

Torn out of tunes that demons dreamed. 

And pitched to such a piercing key, 

It stabbed the ear with agony; 

And when at last it lulled and died, 

I stood aghast and terrified. 
I shuddered and I shut my eyes, 

And still could see, and feel aware 

Some mystic presence waited there ; 
And staring^ with a dazed surprise, 

I saw a creature so divine 
118 



A FANTASY 

That never subtle thought of mine 
May reproduce to inner sight 
So fair a vision of delight. 

A syllable of dew that drips 

From out a lily's laughing lips 

Could not be sweeter than the word 

I listened to, yet never heard. — 

For, oh, the woman hiding there 

Within the shadows of her hair, 

Spake to me in an undertone 

So delicate, my soul alone 

But understood it as a moan 

Of some weak melody of wind 

A heavenward breeze had left behind. 

A tracery of trees, grotesque 

Against the slrj^, behind her seen. 

Like shapeless shapes of arabesque 
Wrought in an Oriental screen; 

And tall, austere, and statuesque 
She loomed before it — e'en as though 
The spirit-hand of Angelo 
Had chiselled her to life complete. 
With chips of moonshine round her feet. 
119 



A FANTASY 

And I grew jealous of the dusk. 
To see it softly touch her face. 
As lover-like, with fond embrace. 
It folded round her like a husk : 
But when the glitter of her hand. 
Like wasted glory, beckoned me. 
My eyes grew blurred and dull and dim — 
My vision failed — I could not see — 
I could not stir — I could but stand. 
Till, quivering in every limb, 
I flung me prone, as though to swim 
The tide of grass whose waves of green 
Went rolling ocean-wide between 
My helpless shipwrecked heart and her 
Who claimed me for a worshipper. 

And writhing thus in my despair, 
I heard a weird, unearthly sound. 
That seemed to lift me from the ground 

And hold me floating in the air. 

I looked, and lo ! I saw her bow 
Above a harp within her hands ; 

A crown of blossoms bound her brow. 
And on her harp were twisted strands 

Of silken starlight, rippling o'er 
120 



A FANTASY 

With music never heard before 
By mortal ears; and^ at the strain, 
I felt my Spirit snap its chain 
And break away^ — and I could see 
It as it turned and fled from me 
To greet its mistress, where she smiled 
To see the phantom dancing wild 
And wizard-like before the spell 
Her mystic fingers knew so well. 



121 



A DEEAM 

I DEEAMED I was a Spider ; 
A hig, fat, hungry spider; 
A lust)^, rusty spider 

With a dozen palsied limbs; 
With a dozen limbs that dangled 
Where three wretched flies were tangled 
And their buzzing wings were strangled 

In the middle of their hymns. 

And I mocked them like a demon — 

A demoniacal demon 

Who delights to be a demon 

For the sake of sin alone ; 
And with fondly false embraces 
Did I weave my mystic laces 
Eonnd their horror-stricken faces 

Till I muffled every groan. 
122 



A DEEAM 

And I smiled to see them weeping, 
For to see an insect weeping. 
Sadly, sorrowfully weeping, 

Fattens every spider^s mirth ; 
And to note a fly^s heart quaking. 
And with anguish ever aching 
Till yon see it slowly breaking 

Is the sweetest thing on earth. 

I experienced a pleasure. 

Such a highly-flavored pleasure. 

Such intoxicating pleasure. 

That I drank of it like wine ; 
And my mortal soul engages 
That no spider on the pages 
Of the history of ages 

Felt a rapture more divine. 

I careened around and capered — 

Madly, mystically capered — 

For three days and nights I capered 

Eound my web in wild delight; 
Till with fierce ambition burning, 
And an inward thirst and yearning 
I hastened my returning 

With a fiendish appetite. 
123 



A DREAM 

And I found my victims dying, 

^^Ha !" they whispered, ^ Ve are dying V^ 

Faintly whispered, ^^We are dying. 

And onr earthly course is run/' 
And the scene was so impressing 
That I breathed a special blessing. 
As I killed them with caressing 

And devoured them one by one. 



134 



BEYAXT 

The harp has fallen from the masters hand ; 

Mute is the music, voiceless are the strings, 

Save such faint discord as the wild wind flings 
In sad ^olian murmurs through the land. 
The tide of melody, whose billows grand 

Flowed o'er the world in clearest utterings, 

Xow, in receding current, sobs and sings 
That song we never wholly understand. 
. . . 0, eyes where glorious prophecies belong. 

And gracious reverence to humbly bow, 
And kingly spirit, proud, and pure, and strong ; 

pallid minstrel with the laurelled brow, 
And lips so long attuned to sacred song, 

How sweet must be the Heavenly anthem now ! 



125 



LIBEETY 

NEW CASTLE^ JULY 4, 1878 



For a hundred years the pulse of time 

Has throbbed for Liberty, 
For a hundred years the grand old clime 
Columbia has been free; 

For a hundred years our country^s love, 
The Stars and Stripes, has waved above. 

Away far out on the gulf of years — 

Misty and faint and white 
Through the fogs of wrong — a sail appears. 
And the Mayflower heaves in sight. 
And drifts again, with its little flock 
Of a hundred souls, on Plymouth Eock. 

Do you see them there — as long, long since 
Through the lens of History ; 

126 



LIBEETY 

Do you see them there as their chieftain prints 
In the snow his bended knee, 

And lifts his voice through the wintry blast 
In thanks for a peaceful home at last ? 

Though the skies are dark and the coast is bleak, 

And the storm is wild and fierce, 
Its frozen flake on the upturned cheek 
Of the Pilgrim melts in tears, 

And the dawn that springs from the darkness there 
Is the morning light of an answered prayer. 

The morning light of the day of Peace 

That gladdens the aching eyes. 
And gives to the soul that sweet release 
That the present verifies, — 

Nor a snow so deep, nor a wind so chili 
To quench the flame of a f reeman^s will ! 



II 



Days of toil when the bleeding hand 

Of the pioneer grew numb. 
When the untilled tracts of the barren land 

Where the weary ones had come 

137 



LIBERTY 

Oould offer naught from a fruitful soil 
To stay the strength of the stranger's toil. 

Days of pain, when the heart beat low, 

And the empty honrs went by 
Pitiless, with the wail of woe 
And the moan of Hunger's cry — 

When the trembling hands upraised in prayer 
Had only the strength to hold them there. 

Days when the voice of hope had fled — 

Days when the eyes grown weak 
Were folded to, and the tears they shed 
Were frost on a frozen cheek — 

When the storm bent down from the skies and gave 
A shroud of snow for the Pilgrim's grave. 

Days at last when the smiling sun 

Glanced down from a summer sky. 
And a music rang where the rivers run^ 
And the waves went laughing by; 

And the rose peeped over the mossy bank 

While the wild deer stood in the stream and drank. 

And the birds sang out so loud and good. 
In a symphony so clear 

128 



LIBERTY 



And pure and sweet that the woodman stood 
With his axe upraised to hear^, 

And to shape the words of the tongue unknown 
Into a language all his own : — 



Sing! every iird, to-day! 

Sing for the sky so clear. 

And the gracious breath of the atmosphere 
Shall waft our cares away. 
Sing! sing! for the sunshine free; 
Sing through the land from sea to sea; 
Lift each voice in the highest key 

And sing for Liberty! 



Siiig for the arms that fling 

Their fetters in the dust 

And lift their hands in higher trust 
TJ7ito the one Great King; 
Sing for the patriot heart and hand; 
Sing for the country they have planned; 
Sing that the world may understand 

This is Freedom's land! 
129 



LIBEETY 



Sing in the tones of prayer. 
Sing till the soaring soul 
Shall float above the world's control 
In Freedom everywhere ! 
Sing for the good that is to he. 
Sing for the eyes that are to see 
The land where man at last is free, 
sing for Liberty! 

Ill 

A holy quiet reigned, save where the hand 
Of labor sent a murmur through the land, 
And happy voices in a harmony 
Taught every lisping breeze a melody. 
A nest of cabins, where the smoke upcurled, 
A breathing incense to the other world. 
A land of languor from the sun of noon. 
That fainted slowly to the pallid moon, 
Till stars, thick-scattered in the garden-land 
Of Heaven by the great Jehovah's hand. 
Had blossomed into light to look upon 
The dusky warrior with his arrow drawn, 
As skulking from the covert of the night 

130 



LIBEETY 

With serpent cunning and a fiend^s delight, 
With murderous spirit, and a yell of hate 
The voice of Hell might tremble to translate : 
When the fond mother^s tender lullaby- 
Went quavering in shrieks all suddenly, 
And baby lips were dabbled with the stain 
Of crimson at the bosom of the slain. 
And peaceful homes and fortunes ruined — lost 
In smouldering embers of the holocaust. 

Yet on and on, through years of gloom and strife, 

Our country struggled into stronger life; 

Till colonies, like footprints in the sand. 

Marked Freedom^s pathway winding through the land- 

And not the footprints to be swept away 

Before the storm we hatched in Boston Bay, — 

But footprints where the path of war begun 

That led to Bunker Hill and Lexington, — 

For he who "^^dared to lead where others dared 

To follow'^ found the promise there declared 

Of Liberty, in blood of Freedom^s host 

Baptized to Father, Son, and Holy Ghost ! 

Oh, there were times when every patriot breast 
Was riotous with sentiments expressed 

131 



LIBEETY 

In tones that swelled in volume till the sound 
Of lusty war itself was well-nigh drowned. 
Oh, those were times when happy eyes with tears 
Brimmed o'er as all the misty doubts and fears 
Were washed away, and Hope with gracious mien, 
Eeigned from her throne again a sovereign queen. 
Until at last, upon a day like this 
When flowers were blushing at the summer's kiss, 
And when the sky was cloudless as the face 
Of some sweet infant in its angel grace, — 
There came a sound of music, thrown afloat 
Upon the balmy air — a clanging note 
Eeiterated from the brazen throat 
Of Independence Bell: A sound so sweet. 
The clamoring throngs of people in the street 
Were stilled as at the solemn voice of prayer. 
And heads were bowed, and lips were moving there 
That made no sound — ^until the spell had passed. 
And then, as when all sudden comes the blast 
Of some tornado, came the cheer on cheer 
Of every eager voice, while far and near 
The echoing bells upon the atmosphere 
Set glorious rumors floating, till the ear 
Of every listening patriot tingled clear, 
And thrilled with joy and jubilee to hear. 

133 



LIBERTY 

Stir all your echoes up, 

Independence Bell, 
And pour from your inverted cup 

The song we love so ivell. 

Lift high your happy voice. 
And swing your iron tongue 

Till syllables of praise rejoice 
That never yet were sung. 

Ring in the gleaming daivn 
Of Freedom — Toll the Icnell 

Of Tyranny, and then ring on^ 
Independence Bell. — 

Ring on, and drotvn the moan 

Above the patriot slain. 
Till sorrow's voice sliall catch the tone 

And join the glad refrain. 

Ring out the wounds of wrong 

And ranJcle in the breast; 
Your music lihe a slumber-song 

Will lull revenge to rest. 
133 



LIBERTY 

Ring out from Occident 

To Orient, and peal 
From continent to continent 

The mighty joy you feel. 

Ring! Independence Bell! 

Ring on till worlds to he 
Shall listen to the tale you tell 

Of love and Liierty! 

IV 

Liberty — the dearest word 
A bleeding country ever heard, — 
We lay our hopes upon thy shrine 
And offer up our lives for thine. 
You gave us many happy years 
Of peace and plenty ere the tears 
A mourning country wept were dried 
Above the graves of those who died 
Upon thy threshold. And again 
When newer wars were bred, and men 
Went marching in the cannon^s breath 
And died for thee, and loved the death, 
While, high above them, gleaming bright, 
134 



LIBERTY 

The dear old flag remained in sight, 
And lighted up their dying eyes 
With smiles that brightened Paradise. 
Liberty, it is thy power 
To gladden ns in every hour 
Of gloom, and lead ns by thy hand 
As little children through a land 
Of bud and blossom ; while the days 
Are filled with sunshine, and thy praise 
Is warbled in the roundelays 
Of joyous birds, and in the song 
Of waters, murmuring along 
The paths of peace, whose flowery fringe 
Has roses finding deeper tinge 
Of crimson, looking on themselves 
Eeflected — leaning from the shelves 
Of cliff and crag and mossy mound 
Of emerald splendor shadow-drowned. — 
We hail thy presence, as you come 
With bugle blast and rolling drum. 
And booming guns and shouts of glee 
Commingled in a symphony 
That thrills the worlds that throng to see 
The glory of thy pageantry. 
And with thy praise, we breathe a prayer 
J35 



LIBERTY 

That God who leaves von in our care 
May favor us from this day on 
With thy dear presence — till the dawn 
Of Heaven, breaking on thy face, 
Lights up thy first abiding-place. 



136 



T. C. PHILIPS 

NOBLE heart, and brave, impetuous hand ! 
So all engrossed in work of public weal 
Thou couldst not pause thy own distress to feel 

While maladies of Wrong oppressed the land. 

The hopes that marshalled at thy pen^s command 
To cheer the Eight, had not the power to heal 
The ever-aching wounds thou didst conceal 

Beneath a front so stoically bland 

That no one guessed thy inward agony, — 
Until the Master, leaning from His throne, 
Heard some soul wailing in an undertone, 

And bending lower down, discovered thee, 
And clasped thy weary hand within His own 

And lifted thee to rest eternally. 



137 



A DEEAM UNFimSHED 

Only a dream -unfinished ; only a form at rest 

With weary hands clasped lightly over a peaceful breast. 

And the lonesome light of summer through the open 

doorway falls, 
But it wakes no laugh in the parlor — no voice in the 

vacant halls. 

It throws no spell of music over the slumberous air ; 
It meets no step on the carpet — no form in the easy chair. 

It finds no queenly presence blessing the solitude 
With the gracious benediction of royal womanhood. 

It finds no willowy figure tilting the cage that swings 
With the little pale canary that forgets the song he sings. 

No face at the open window to welcome the fragrant 

breeze; 
ISTo touch at the old piano to waken the sleeping keys. 

The idle book lies open, and the folded leaf is pressed 
Over the half -told story while death relates the rest. 

138 



A DBEAM UNFINISHED 

Only a dream unfinished ; only a form at rest, 

With weary hands clasped lightly over a peaceful breast. 

The light steals into the corner where the darkest 

shadows are, 
And sweeps with its golden fingers the strings of the 

mute guitar. 

And over the drooping mosses it clambers the rustic 

stand, 
And over the ivy's tresses it trails a trembling hand. 

But it brings no smile from the darkness — ^it calls no 

face from the gloom — 
'No song flows out of the silence that aches in the empty 

room. 

And we look in vain for the dawning in the depths of 

our despair, 
Where the weary voice goes wailing through the empty 

aisles of prayer. 

And the hands reach out through the darkness for the 

touches we have known 
When the icy palms lay warmly in the pressure of our 

own: 

139 



A DEEAM UNFINISHED 

When the folded eyes were gleaming with a glory God 

designed 
To light a way to Heaven by the smiles they left behind. 

Only a dream unfinished ; only a form at rest 

With weary hands clasped lightly over a peaceful breast. 



140 



THE VISION" OP EABBI BEX ISAAC 

For three score years my wandering feet have strayed 
Along a path wherein no footprint lay 

Of Him, who of the cross a guide-board made 
To point me ont the way. 

With open eyes I dreamed that I was dead — 
Dead to all outward semblance, though I lay 

With some old scrap of reason in my head 
That would not fade away. 

And peering np in wonderment I saw 
My floating spirit plume its wings elate. 

Yet gazing upward with a look of awe. 
It seemed to hesitate. 

*^Go on V^ I called to it. ^'Leap into space, 
And sweep a way to glory with thy wings !'' 

^^Alas V^ it answered back, with troubled face, 
"They are such trembling things !'' 

141 



THE VISION OF RABBI BEN ISAAC 

And hoYering above me, spread them wide^ 
And all their glossy plumage o^er my eyes 

Shook out in downy splendor, crimson-dyed 
With hues of Paradise. 

^^Nay^ glorious things are they/^ I cried, amazed. 
And veiled my vision from their dazzling light — 

^'^So, get thee gone — their maker must be praised'^- 
And upward tlyough the night 

It lifted like a meteor, and sailed 

Across the gulf of darkness like a flame, 

While down the smouldering wake behind it trailed 
The ashes of my name. 

It called to me — not larger than a flake 

Of starlight did it glimmer through the gloom — 

"Pray for me,^^ fell the voice;, "for Jesus^ sake ! 
I see the heavens bloom/^ 

And loathful to myself I whispered then, 
As wholly from my gaze the glimmer went — 

"0 Lord, through Christ, receive my soul, Amen/^ 
And like an instrument 

143 



THE VISION OF KABBI BEN ISAAC 

Of music in some heavenly tumult tipped. 

Outpouring the elixir of its voice, 
Down-showering upon my senses dripped 

The utterance, ^^Eejoice ! 

^^God listens, for the angels at the door 
Are swarming out and in and out again. 

And o^er and round about me evermore 
They sing ^Good-will to men f '^ 

Then suddenly the voice in quaverings 

Fell wailingly — ^^Alas ! for I alone 
Of all the glorious throng have tarnished wings 

That Heaven will not own. 

^The angel Truth has pityingly said 

That every plume impure Christ will condemn. 
And that the stain self -righteousness is red 

As blood on all of them/^ 

Then to my soul I cried aloud : "Eeturn 
That I may bow my head in holier prayer, 

And all the recompense of good I earn 
Shall blossom everywhere/^ 

143 



THE VISION OP RABBI BEN ISAAC 

^^Not so/' It answered, as in some surprise — 
^^The angel Faith has whispered, Tjook above/ 

And shading with her wings my dazzled eyes, 
Points out the angel Love, 

"Who, weeping, bends above me, and her tears 
Baptize me, and her sister Mercy trips 

Along the golden clouds, and Christ appears 
With sorrow on His lips'^ — 

Then silence, and as one who vainly wars 

With inner strife : "Come back to me !'' I cried. 

And pealing down a pathway of the stars 
A ringing voice replied — 

"N'ow is thy sou?s probation so complete 
It may but answer thee with one farewell ;'' 

And, filtered through the gloom, lo ! at my feet 
A snow-white feather fell. 



144 



UNSPOKEN" 

HE can hold her hand, and full and fair 
Look in her face and fling her smile for smile, 
' And loosen from his lips such words the while 

As make him wonder how his tongue may dare 

Such dalliance. And when in wordless prayer 
His heart lies gasping, he can reconcile 
His talk to that glib, recitative style 

The silly gossip chatters everywhere. 

But 0, one utterance — one stormy word 
Is fastened down in silence pitiless ; 

No struggling murmur of it ever heard — 
No echo welling out of his distress 

To plead aloud its mission long deferred. 
And leap up fountain-like in thankfulness. 

Yet he is bold enough in dreams — ^last night 
He held her in his arms, and in the strands 
Of her down-streaming hair he bathed his hands, 

And fretted it in golden foam, as bright 

145 



UNSPOKEN" 

And billowy it floated o^er his sight. 

Her breath was like a breeze of fairy-lands 

That reels above a bed of bloom and fans 
Its fragrant life away in sheer delight. 
So even did he whisper through the sighs 

That quavered as his spirit stayed to drain 
The mad intoxication of her eyes ; 

Then felt a pang of pleasure keen as pain— ■ 
A barb of ecstasy shot arrow-wise 

In such a kiss as cleft his heart in twain. 

But waking, when the morning of her face 
Shines full upon him, voiceless has he grown, 
Save that inanimately mirthful tone 

That ripples ever on its foolish race 

And finds nor rest nor joyance in the chase t 
And so it is a never-ending moan 
Wails on unheard, unheeded, and unknown 

But by the echoes of its hiding-place. 

What poverty like this? — to laugh, and sing, 
And babble like a brook in summer-time ; 

To circle o'er the world on airy wing, 

Or clamber into Heaven on rounds of rhyme. 

When in the soul, forever lingering. 
There lives a love unspeakably sublime. 

146 



THANKSGIYIKG DAY AT HUNCHLEY^S 

If you never heard of Hunchley^ I would say in his be- 
half, 

He's as jovial a bachelor as ever raised a laugh. 

And as fond of boon companions, yet withal as tried and 
true 

A gentleman of honor as the writer ever knew. 

And if he has a weakness, as a weakness it depends 

On a certain strength of kindness he bestows upon his 

friends ; 
Being simple, undesigning, and of courteous address. 
All hearts are open to him and his friends are numberless. 

And this is how it happened some discrepancies befell 
At the late Thanksgiving dinner which began at his 

hotel. 
Where, it seems, the guests invited were selected more 

to be 
In keeping with his bounty than the laws of harmony. 

For there among the number were two rivals of the press. 
Who had paragraphed each other with prolonged ma- 
liciousness, 

147 



THANKSGIVING DAY AT HUNCHLEY's 

And in their respective columns had a thousand times 

declared 
That the other fellow ^^daresnV^ when the other fellow 

dared. 

And cheek by jowl together were two members of the bar, 

Politically^ legally, and socially at war, 

Who denounced each other daily, and in every local 

phrase 
That could make the matter binding all the balance of 

their days. 

Of the medical fraternity (^^fraternity'^ is good) 
There were four or five disciples of the healing brother- 
hood — 
Botanic and eclectic, and some others that persist 
In orthographic wranglings, such as ^^lomeopathisf' ; 

And an ordinary actor, and an actor of renown, 

Whose cue, it seemed, for smiling was the other actor's 

frown ; 
And the most loquacious author my remembrance can 

recall. 
And a little bench-leg poet that couldn't talk at all. 



148 



THANKSGIVING DAY AT HUNCHLEY's 

In fact, the guests assembled, as they gathered round the 

feast 
Wore expressions such as savored not of thankfulness 

the least, 
And to a close observer were suggestive of the dread 
And shadowy disaster that was hanging overhead. 

Now the simple Mr. Hunchley had invited, with the rest, 
A melancholy pastor, and, in honor of the guest 
And the notable occasion, he desired a special ^"^grace,^^ 
Which the thankful pastor offered with a very thankless 
face. 

And at this unhappy juncture came a Journalistic pun, 
Which the rival designated as a most atrocious one, 
At which the grim projector, with a covert look of hate, 
Shook a little dust of ^^fine-cut'^ in the other fellow^s 
plato. 

And the viands circulated, with a sudden gust of wit 
From a lawyer — instituted for the other^s benefit, — 
Then the victim spun a story with exasperating mirth 
That reflected his opponent as of small judicial worth. 

Then a medical discussion on the stomach swelled the 

gale 
And the literary appetite began to droop and fail ; 

149 



THANKSGIVING DAY AT HUNCHLEY's 

While a sportive reminiscence from the absent-minded 

host 
Blanched the feattires of the pastor to the pallor of a 

ghost. 

And a deep sonorous mnrmnr slowly grew, and grew, 

and grew 
Till the similes that suited it were singularly few, — 
For even now at leisure, and with nothing else to do, 
A task of lesser promise I can say I never knew. 

I have heard the tread of armies as they marched upon 

the foe. 
And, among the Alps, have listened to the avalanche of 

snow; 
I have leaned upon Niagara, and heard the wailing tide 
Where it leaps its awful chasm in unending suicide : 

I have heard the trampling footsteps of the roaring hur- 
ricane 

As he lashed his tail of lightning and tossed his shaggy 
mane; 

I have heard the cannonading of the devastating storm, 

And the falling politician howling loudly for reform : 



150 



THANKSGIVING DAY AT HUNCHLEY's 

But no mystic voice of terror ever bred of ISTature^s law 
^ Could awake the sense of wonder and dismay, and doubt 

and awe 
That thrilled my inmost being as the conversation 

swelled 
To a mad, chaotic focus in which everybody yelled. 

There^s a vision in my fancy, misty-like and undefined, 
Of an actor with his collar loose and sticking up behind, 
And another (though I hesitate to chronicle the fact) 
Writhing underneath the table in a wild contortion act. 

There's a shadowy remembrance of a group of three or 

four 
Who were seemingly dissecting another on the floor; 
And the form of Mr. Hunchley dancing round a couple 

more, 
And a phantom with a chicken leg a-breaking for the 

door. 

And here my memory wavers — I recall the heated breath 
Of the gentleman who held me with the very grip of 

death. 
And as my reeling pencil scrawls the scene of my release 
I'm as full of glad thanksgiving as my soul is full of 

peace. 

151 



THANKSGIVING DAY AT HUNCHLEY^S 

But this is how it happened these discrepancies befell 
At the late Thanksgiving dinner Hunchley gave at his 

hotel. 
Where, it seems, the guests invited were selected more 

to be 
In keeping with his bounty than the laws of harmony. 



153 



APAET 



They stood on either side the gate — 
Though fastened with the hands of fate 
A touch might lift the latches weight. 

The moonlight, with a faded grace. 
Fell o^er the whiteness of her face 
Like some soiled veil of bridal lace. 

The fan she held went fluttering 
About her mouth on restless wing 
As though it were a wounded thing. 

And in her breast an ache of dread 
Held back the word she would have said, 
And sent a weary sigh instead. 
153 



APAKT 
II 

He waited, with his eager eyes 
Half muffled in a weak disguise 
Of carelessness and cold surprise. 

"Within his breast he heard the moan : 

^^How desolate and all alone 

And pitiless my heart has grown V^ 

And yet a nameless ache of dread 
Held back the word he would have said. 
And sent a weary sigh instead. 

The long, black shadows of the trees 
Whose branches wavered in the breeze, 
Fell o^er them like their destinies. 

They parted. Yet the wild wind saith 
That two fair ghosts with failing breath 
Walk hand in hand the path of death. 



154 



TO LEON-AINIE 

IN MEMOEY OF LEONAINIE^ IXFANT DAUGHTER OF 

W. B. AND LOTTA TITUS, THESE LINES ABE 

TENDEELY INSCEIBED 

^TjEOXAinie !'' angels missed her — 

Baby angels — they 
Who behind the stars had kissed her 

Ere she came away; 
And their little, wandering faces 
Drooped o'er Heaven's hiding-places 
Whiter than the lily- vases 

On the Sabbath day. 

^^Leonainie V^ crying, crying, 

Crying through the night. 
Till her lisping lips replying. 

Laughing with delight. 
Drew us nearer yet, and nearer 
That we might the better hear her 
Baby-words, and love her dearer 

Hearing not aright. 
155 



TO LEONAINIE 

Only spake the little lisper 

In the Angel tongue, 
Fainter than a fairy whisper 

Murmured in among 
Dewy blossoms covered over 
With the fragrant tufts of clover. 
Where the minstrel honey-rover 

Twanged his wings and sung. 

^TJeonainie !^' — And the glimmer 

Of her starry eyes 
Faded, and the world grew dimmer. 

E'en as Paradise 
Blossomed with a glory brighter 
Than the waning stars, and whiter 
Than the dying moon, and lighter 

Than the morning skies. 



156 



YE SCHOLAE 

Ho ! ho ! Ye Scholar recketh not how lean 
His lank frame waxeth in ye hectic gloom 
That smeareth o'er ye dim walls of his room 

His wavering shadow ! Shut is he, I ween, 

Like as a withered nosegay, in between 
Ye musty, mildewed leaves of some volume 
Of ancient lore ye moth and he consume 

In jointure. Yet a something in his mien 
Forbids all mockery, though quaint is he, 

And eke fantastical in form and face 
As that Old Knight ye Tale of Chivalry 

Made mad immortally, yet spared ye grace 
Of some rare virtue which we sigh to see, 
And pour our laughter out most tenderly. 



157 



DEATH IS DEAD 

And did yon know onr old friend Death is dead ? 

Ah me ! he died last night ; my ghost was there, 

And all his phantom friends from everywhere 
Were sorrowfully grouped about his bed. 
^^I die ; God help the living now V^ he said 

With stich a ghastly pathos, I declare 

The tears oozed from the blind eyes of the air 
And spattered on his face in gouts of red. 
And then he smiled— the dear old bony smile 

That glittered on us in that crazy whim 
When first our daring feet leapt the defile 

Of life and ran so eagerly to him : 
And ^0 he smiled upon ug, even while 

The kind old sockets grew forever dim. 



im 



THE LITTLE DEAD MAN 



TET NOT SO DEAD AS ANOTHEE 



IT was a little dead man. 
At peace with all the earth; 

Yet I iiever saw a ^ead man 
So seeming ijear to mirth. 

His hands were meekly hidden. 
At his very last request— 

The right in his hip pocket. 
And the other in his vest. 

His collar was thrown open. 

And he wore his easy clothes- 
Had his ordinary hoots on. 
With rosin on the toes. 
159 



THE LITTLE DEAD MAN 
II 

And so the little dead man 
Lay coflfined for the tomb. 

The hearse was at the doorway — 
The mourners in the room — 

When suddenly a stranger, 
Who had called the day before 

With a book beneath his elbow, 
Entered softly at the door. 

And stood before the mourners 
In his bold and brazen might, 

A note-book in the left hand 
And a pencil in the right. 

And he turned him to the mourners 
With a business air, and said : 

^^I must really beg your pardon. 
But the gentleman that^s dead 

^^Was kind enough to tell me. 
If Fd call around to-day 

He'd be prepared to listen 
To all I had to say. 
160 



THE LITTLE DEAD MAN 



cc 



And in view of that engagement, 

I would gently intimate 

(As it may pitch the funeral 

Some dozen hours late), 

^That you have my indulgence,^^ 
And with eyelids downward thrown. 

They left the little dead man 
And the agent all alone. 

As only stars may lighten 

Up the grandeur of the plains, 

And the mountains where the midnight 
In her mystic beauty reigns. 

So the stars must shed their glory 

O'er imagination's vales, 
And illuminate the story 

Where the poet's pencil fails. 



But there was a little dead man — 
Ah ! so very dead indeed, 

They fastened down his coffin lid 
With most judicious speed. 
161 



TSE LITTLE DEAD MAIT 

And they whose latest oiBBce 

Was to shroud his form from sight, 
Saw a note-book in the left hand. 

And a peneil in the right. 



162 



THE EMPTY SONG 

^TVhat have we but an empty song T^ 

Said the minstrel, as he bent 
To stay the fingers that trailed along 

The strings of her instrument. 

^^The clasp of your hand is warm in mine, 
And yonr breath on my brow is wet — 

I have drunk of your lips as men drink wine^ 
But my heart is thirsty yet.' 



?? 



The starlight shivered a little space, 

And the sigh of the wind uprose 
And blew a cloud o^er the moon^s wan face, 

And swooned back in repose. 

The years ooze on in a stagnant flood : 

One drifts as the winds allow ; 
And one writes rhymes with his hearths own bloody 

But his soul is thirsty now. 
163 



A EOSE m OCTOBEE 



AN IMITATION 



I STRAYED^ all alone, where the Autumn 

Had swept, in her petulant wrath : 
All the flowers, that had bloomed in the garden, 

She had gathered, and flung in her path. 
And I saw the dead face of the lily. 

Struck down, by the rain and the sleet. 
And the pink, with her lashes yet weeping. 

Drooped low in the dust, at my feet. 

II 

The leaves on the branches still swinging, 
Were blanched with the crimson of death ; 

And the vines that still clung to the trellis, 
Were palsied, and shook at a breath. 

161 



A KOSE IN OCTOBER 



And I sighed : ^^So hath fate, like the Autumn, 

Swept over my path, till I see, 
As I walk through life's desolate garden 

Not a rose is left blooming for me ?^ 



III 



^^Heigho V^ said a voice of low laughter — 

"How blind are you poets V^ And there. 
At the gate, just in front of me, leaning, 

Stood Eosalind May, I declare ! 
I stammered, confused, for the moment ; 

But was blest for the rest of my life, 
For my Eose of October there promised 

She'd bloom for me, aye, as — my wife. 



165 



THE LITTLE OLD POEM THAT NOBODY 

EEADS 

The little old poem that nobody reads 

Blooms in a crowded space, 
Like a ground- vine blossom, so low in the weeds 
That nobody sees its face — 

Unless, perchance, the reader's eye 
Stares through a yawn, and hurries by, 
Por no one wants, or loves, or heeds 
The little old poem that nobody reads. 

The little old poem that nobody reads 
Was written — ^where ? — and when ? 
Maybe a hand of goodly deeds 
Thrilled as it held the pen : 

Maybe the fountain whence it came 
Was a heart brimmed o'er v\dth tears of shame. 
And maybe its creed is the worst of creeds — 
The little old poem that nobody reads. 
166 



THE LITTLE OLD POEM THAT NOBODY READS 

But, little old poem that nobody reads, 

Holding you here above 
The wound of a heart that warmly bleeds 
For all that knows not love, 

I well believe if the old World knew 
As dear a friend as I find in you, 
That friend would tell it that all it needs 
Is the little old poem that nobody reads. 



167 



ON HEARING A COW BAWL IN A DEEP FIT OF DEJECTION 
ON THE EVENING OF JULY 3, A. D. 1879 

Portentous sound ! mysteriously vast 
And awful in the grandeur of refrain 

That lifts the listener's hair as it swells past, 
And pours in turbid currents down the lane. 

The small boy at the wood-pile, in a dream 
Slow trails the meat rind o'er the listless saw; 

The chickens roosting o'er him on the beam 
Uplift their drowsy heads with cootered awe. 

The ^^gung-oigh !'' of the pump is strangely stilled : 
The smoke-house door bangs once emphatic'ly 

Then bangs no more, but leaves the silence filled 
With one lorn plaint's despotic minstrelsy. 
168 



LINES 



Yet I would join tliy sorrowing madrigal, 
Most melancholy cow, and sing of thee 

Pull-hearted through my tears, for, after all, 
^Tis very kine in you to sing for me. 



169 



FEIEND OF A WAYWAED HOUR 

Feiend of a wayward hour, you came 
Like some good ghost, and went the same ; 
And I within the haunted place 
Sit smiling on your vanished face, 
And talking with — ^your name. 

But thrice the pressure of your hand — 
First hail — congratulations — and 
Your last *^^God bless you !'^ as the train 
That brought you snatched you back again 
Into the unknown land. 

^^God bless me ?'^ Why, your very prayer 
Was answered ere you asked it there, 
I know — for when you came to lend 
Me your kind hand, and call me friend, 
God blessed me unaware. 



170 



LINES 

ON EECEIVING A PEESENT FEOM AN UNKNOWN FEIEND 

Thou little naked statuette, 

"With fairy head atip, 
And eyelids ever downward let^ 
And silence on thy lip, 

Thon comest from a friend unknown, 

Nor wilt confess, 
E^en in mute syllables of stone. 
That friend^s address. 

And so, still pools of gratitude 

I pour out at thy feet; 
And could it mirror back thy nude 
Perfection half as sweet 

As rests within this heart of mine 

That friend unknown. 
Why, smiles would light that face of thine 
And warm the stone. 
171 



LAST WOEDS 

He left me for a foreign land : 

I could not even free 
One little tear to gem the hand 

That God had given me ; 
For ^'^I will follow soon, my dear/^ 

I laughed with girlish air, — 
^^The sun that cheers our pathway here 

Shall beam upon us there !'^ 

And so we parted. . . . Listen, God ! — 

I may not even free 
One little tear to dew the sod 

Where, sleeping peacefully. 
He waits in foreign lands — my dear ! 

But prophecy and prayer, — 
The sun that cheers our pathway here 

Shall beam upon us — there !" 

172 



a 



AT BAY 

Despekate, at last I stand 
Eeady, Fate, with open hand 
To grasp yours, or to strike 
Blow for blow — ^just as yon like. 

You have dogged me day by day — 
Chased me when a child at play : 
Even from the mother nest 
Pushed me when I needed rest. 

You have crouched along my track 
Like a hound, and hurled me back. 
While your dog's-tongue lapped the blood 
Of my murdered babyhood. 

Pitilessly, year by year. 
From the farthest past to here, 
You have fallen like a blight 
On each blossom of delight. 
173 



AT BAY 

You have risen up between 
Me and every hope serene 
That has promised rest at last 
From the trials of the past. 

You have shut the light of day 
From my present — stolen away 
All my faith in better things 
Than sheer desperation brings. 

But as now I come to know 
That I may no farther go^ 
I have turned — ^not to resist, 
But to greet you hand or fist. 



lU 



THE BALLAD OP SMILES AND TEAES 



BY LEE 0. HAEEIS AND JAMES WHITCOMB EILEY 



When the gleeful Spring on dancing feet 

Pranks the sward of the forest aisles, 
And the bluebird pipes from his old retreat, 
then may the glad face bloom with smiles : 
But whenever the wind of winter piles 

The drifting snow on the frozen meres. 
And the feet are worn with the weary miles, 
Then hearts that are heavy may melt in tears. 



II 



When the soul is brimmed with a joy too sweet 
To waste like that of a laughing child^s. 

When the lips of love for the first time meet, 
then may the glad face bloom with smiles : 

175 



THE BALLAD OF SMILES AND TEAES 

But whenever the kiss of love defiles, 

And friendship wanes with the waning years, 

When faith has perished, and hope beguiles, 
Then hearts that are heavy may melt in tears. 



Ill 



When the brow is crowned and the song complete. 

And the minstreFs guerdon reconciles 
The victor soul to the heart's defeat, 

then may the glad face bloom with smiles : 
But whenever the world in scorn compiles 

Its ready pages of scoffs and jeers, 
And the brain is weary of envy's wiles, 

Then hearts that are heavy may melt in tears, 

L^ENVOY 

Wlien the eyelids droop like a drowsy child's, 
then may the glad face bloom with smiles : 
But whenever the waking is fraught with fears. 
Then hearts that are heavy may melt in tears. 



176 



WAIT 

We know, faltering heart. 

Thy need is great : 
But weary is the way that leads to art, 
And all who journey there must bear their part- 
Must bear their part, and — wait. 

The way is wild and steep, 

And desolate : 
Xo flowers blossom there, nor lilies peep 
Above the walls to warn you, as you weep, 

With one white whisper — ^^Wait.'^ 

You will find thorns, alas ! 

And keen as fate : 
And, reaching from rank fens of withered grass, 
Briers will clutch your feet, nor let you pass — 

And you must wait — ^must wait. 

177 



WAIT 

And though with failing sight 

Yon see the gate 
Of Promise locked and barred, with swarthy Mght 
Guarding the golden keys of morning light, — 

Press bravely on — and wait. 



178 



LELLOUs^E 



Tiny qneen, 
Lelloine ! 
Little eyes laugh out between 

Dimpled fingers that were busy 
But a weary moment since 

Mischief -making — ^for she is a 
Match for Puck, the fairy prince ! 
She must ever be advancing 
Some new prank; and laughing, dancing, 

Disappearing at the door, 
Like a sunbeam lea^dng shaded 

All that was so bright before — 
Like a sunbeam leaving faded 

Flowers on the floor. 
0, you joking, dear provoking. 
Little laughing Lelloine ! 

179 



LELLOINE 
II 

Calm^ serene, 
Lelloine ! 
Ljdng lily-like between 
The blurred leaves of life and love 
That our vp^et eyes bend above, 
Lisp nor laughter on the lips : 
Two white rose-leaves now eclipse 
Such of glances as the chance 
Dimple dances in advance. 
Darling ! Darling ! tell us why 
You do neither laugh nor cry ; 
Even though you moaned in pain, 
We could be so glad again ! 
What unchanging smile is this 
That we shudder so to kiss ? 
Hearts are leaning low to glean 
All your meaning, Lelloine. 



180 



SINCE MY MOTHEE DIED 

Since my mother died, the tone 
Of my voice has fainter grown, 
And my words, so strangely few, 
Are as strange to me as you. 
Something like a lens is drawn 
Over all I look upon. 
And the world is so wide. 
Since my mother died. 

Since my mother died, my face 
Knows not any resting-place. 
Save in visions, lightly pressed 
In its old accustomed rest 
On her shoulder. But I wake 
With a never-ending ache 
In my heart, and naught beside. 
Since my mother died. 
181 



SINCE MY MOTHER DIED 

Since my mother died, the years 
Have been dropping like my tears. 
Till the bloom is washed away 
From my cheeks, and slow decay 
Seams the corners of my eyes, 
Where my childish langhter lies 
Drowned in tears that never dried 
Since my mother died. 

Since my mother died, my feet 
Falter in the crowded street. 
With bewildered steps that seem 
Tangled in some grassy dream. 
And, in busy haunts of men. 
Slowly down the past again 
Do I wander weary-eyed. 

Since my mother died. 

Since my mother died, friends ! 
'No one leads me now, or lends 
Me a kindly word, or touch 
Of the hands I need so much ; 
No one counsels me, or cares 
For my trials, doubts, despairs 
And the world is so wide, 
Since my mother died. 
183 



HOPE 

Hope, bending o'er me one time, snowed the flakes 
Of her white touches on my folded sight, 

And whispered, half rebukingly, ^What makes 
My little girl so sorrowful to-night T^ 

scarce did I unclasp my lids, or lift 

Their tear-glued fringes, as with blind embrace 

1 caught within my arms the mother-gift, 
And with wild kisses dappled all her face. 

That was a baby dream of long ago : 

My fate is f anged with frost, and tongued with flame 
My woman-soul, chased naked through the snow. 

Stumbles and staggers on without an aim. 

And yet, here in my agony, sometimes 

A faint voice reaches down from some far Tieight, 

And whispers through a glamouring of rhymes, — 
^^What makes my little girl so sad to-night ?^ 

183 



THE GINOINE AR-TICKLE 

Talkin' o' poetry — Tliere're few men yit 
^At^s got the stuff bailed down so^s if 11 pour 
Out sorghum-like, and keep a year and more 

Jes' sweeter ever^ time you tackle it ! 

Why, all the jinglin' truck ^at hes been writ 
Eer twenty year and better is so pore 
You cain't find no sap in it any more 

^N you^d find juice in puff-balls ! — And Td quit! 

What people wants is facts, I apperhend ; 
And naked IsTatur is the thing to give 

Your writin' bottom, eh ? And I contend 
'At honest work is alius bound to live. 

Now them's my views ; 'cause you kin recommend 

Sich poetry as that from end to end. 



184 



STANZAS FOR A NEW SONG 

Whistle us something old, you know ! 

Pucker your lips with the old-time twist. 
And whistle the jigs of the long ago, 

Or the old hornpipes that you used to whist. 
Some old, old tune that we oft averred 
Was a little the oldest thing we'd heard 
Since ^^the bob-tailed nag'' was a frisky colt. 
In the babbling days of old "Ben Bolt." 

Whistle us something old and gray — 

Some toothless tune of the bygone years — 
Some bald old song that limps to-day 
With a walking-stick this vale of tears. 
Whistle a stave of the good old days, 
Ere the fur stood up in a thousand ways 
On the listener's pelt as he ripped and tore. 
And diddle-dee-blank-blanked Pinafore. 



185 



STANZAS FOE A NEW SONG 
CHORUS 

Whistle ns something old, you know ! 
Pucker yonr lips with the old-time twist. 
And whistle the jigs of the long ago, 
Or the old hornpipes that yon used to whist. 



186 



LINES TO AN ONSETTLED YOUNG MAN 






0, WHAT is Life at last/^ says you, 
At woman folks and man folks too, 
Cain^t, oncomplainin^, worry through ? 

^^An^ what is Love, ^at no one yit 
^At^s monkeyed with it kin forgit, 
Er gits fat on remember V hit ? 

''An' what is Death?''— W'y, looky hynr- 
Ef Life an' Love don't suit you, sir, 
Hit's jes' the thing yer lookin' f er ! 



187 



PLANTATION" HYMN 

Hear dat rum'lin' in de sky ! 

Ho? fas', brudders, till you git dah ! 
0, dat's de good Lord walkin' by, 

HoF fas', brudders, till you git dah ! 

CHOEUS 

Malister ! Jesus ! 
You done come down to please us, 
And dahs de good Lord sees us. 
As he goes walkin' by ! 

See dat lightnin' lick his tongue ? 

HoF fas', brudders, till you git dah ! 
'Spec he taste de song 'ut de angels sung- 

Hol' fas', brudders, till you git dah ! 

De big black clouds is bust in two. 
Hoi' fas', brudders, till you git dah ! 

And dahs de 'postles peekin' frue, 
Hoi' fas', brudders, till you git dah ! 
188 



PLANTATION HYMN 



Know dem angels ev'ry one, 

HoP f as^, brudders, till you git dah ! 
Kase dey^s got wings and we'se got none, 

HoF f as^ brudders, till you git dah ! 



CHORUS 



Mahster ! Jesus ! 
You done come down to please us. 
And dahs de good Lord sees us. 
As he goes walkin^ by ! 



189 



MICHAEL FLYNN" AND THE BABY 

LuK at ^ere, ould baby^ — who 
Shakes the fist av ^im at you ? 
Who^s the spalpeen wid the stim 
Av his poipe a-pokin^ ^im ? 
Who's the divil grinnin' 'ere 
In the eyes av yez, me dear ? 
Arrah ! darlint, spake and soy 
Don't yez know yer f eyther — ^boy ? 

Wheer's the gab yer mither had 
Whin she blarneyed yer onld dad 
Wid her tricks and 'ily words 
Loike the liltin' av the birds ? 
Wheer's the tongue av Michael Elynn, 
And the capers av the chin 
He's a-waggin' at yez ? — ^Hoy ? 
Pon't yez know yer f eyther — ^boy? 

190 



MICHAEL PLYNN AND THE BABY 

Arrah ! baby, wid the eyes 
Av the saints in Paradise, 
And Saint Patrick^s own bald pate, 
Is it yer too howly swate 
To be changin^ words because 
It^s the hod, and not the cross, 
Ornamints me showlder? — Soy? 
Don^t yez know yer f eyther — boy ? 



191 



GUINEVEEE 

What is it I am waiting for ? 
My footfall in the corridor 
Jars upward through the night, and swings 
The brazen silence till it rings 
Like any bell. My weak knees faint 
Before the sad face of my saint. 
And, ^twixt my lifted eyes and tears. 
Dim lists of mounted cavaliers 
Swim past. ... A nodding plume that dips 
To brush the dead prayers from my lips 
Like dust — . God^s mercy ! rid my sight 
Of Launcelot, or blind me quite ! 
I know what duty is ! Ah, Christ ! 
The memory of our latest tryst 
Is f anged within my very soul ! . . . 
I swear to 5^ou, in all control 
I held myself ! . . . ^Twas love, I wis. 
That sprang upon that kiss of his, 
193 



GUINTIVERE 

And drank and drained it to the lees 
Of three God-shaken destinies. 
'Twas love, I tell yon, wild, insane, 
Stark mad and babbling, wanton, vain- 
But tell me. Where is Arthur ? — or, 
What is it I am waiting for ? 



193 



THE CONQTJEEOE 

He hears the whir of the battle-drum. 

And the shrill- voiced fife, and the bugle-call, 
With a thirsty spirit that drinks it all 

As men might drink the wine poured from 
Old wicker flagons raimented 
With the rust and dust of ages dead. 

He plunges into the crimson sea 

Of carnage, and with a dauntless pride. 
He swims, with his good star, side by side. 

To the blood-sprayed heights of Victory, 
Where never his glory waxes dim, 
Though a woman^s weak hand conquers him. 

And high and alone — as the sculptor makes 

Him set in stone that the world may se 

He sits there, crowned eternally. 
And sheltered under a flag that shakes 

Her silken stripes and her silver stars 

Into a tangle of endless wars. 
194 



THE MAD LOVER 

My eyes are feverish and dull ; 

I^m tired, and my throat hurts so ! 
And life has grown so pitiful — 

So very pitiful, I know 
Not any hope of rest or peace, 

But just to live on, ache by ache, 
Feeling my heart click on, nor cease, 

'Not ever wholly break. 

You smiled so sweetly, Miriam Wayne, 

I could not help but love your smile. 
And fair as sunshine after rain 

It glimmered on me all the while ; 
Why, it did soak as summer light 

Through all my life, until, indeed, 
I ripened as an apple might 

From golden rind to seed. 

195 



THE MAD LOVER 

Fate never wrought so pitiless 

An evil, as when first your eyes 
Poured back in mine the tenderness 

That made the world a Paradise — 
Por Miriam, remembering 

The warm white hands that lay in mine 
Like wisps of sunshine vanishing — 

Your kisses, spilled like wine 

Down over forehead, face, and lips. 

Till I lay drunken with delight 
Prom crown of soul to finger-tips — 

. . . Shriek, Memory, in mad affright ! — 
Howl at the moon like any hound ! 

Yelp ^^ove^' and "liar'^ every breath, 
And ^^Heaven is lost and hell is found V^ 

So moan yourself to death ! 



196 



HEE VALENTINE 

Somebody's sent a funny little valentine to me. 

It's a bunch of baby roses in a vase of filigree, 

And hovering above them — just as cute as he can be — 

Is a fairy Cupid tangled in a scarf of poetry. 

And the prankish little fellow looks so knowing in his 

glee, 
With his golden bow and arrow, aiming most unerringly 
At a pair of hearts so labelled that I may read and see 
That one is meant for ^^One Who Loves/' and one is 

meant for me. 

But I know the lad who sent it ! It's as plain as A-B-C ! — 
For the roses they are blushing, and the vase stands awJc- 

wardly. 
And the little god above it — ^though as cute as he can 

be— 
Can not breathe the lightest whisper of his burning love 

for me. 

197 



THE DEAD JOKE AND THE FUNNY MAN 

Long years ago, a funny man, 

Flushed with a strange delight, 
Sat down and wrote a funny thing 

All in the solemn night; 
And as he wrote he clapped his hands 
And laughed with all his might. 
For it was such a funny thing, 
such a very funny thing, 
This wonderfully funny thing, 
He 

Laughed 

Outright. 

And so it was this funny man 

Printed this funny thing — 
Forgot it, too, nor ever thought 

It worth remembering. 
Till but a day or two ago. 
198 



THE DEAD JOKE AND THE FUNNY MAN 

(Ah! what may changes bring!) 
He found this selfsame funny thing 
In an exchange — ^^0 funny thing V^ 
He cried, ^TTou dear old funny thing V^ 
And 

Sobbed 

Outright. 



199 



ONE ANGEL . 

^'K HOMELY little woman with big hands'' : 

'Twas thus she named herself, and shook her head 
All solemnly, the day that we were wed, 
While I — well, I laughed lightly as I said, — 
^^No prince am I astray from fairy lands, 
^homely little woman with big hands' !" 

^^My homely little woman with big hands" 

I called her ever after, — first, intent 

On irony and admonition blent; 

Then out of — since she smiled — pure merriment; 
And lastly, from sheer lack of reprimands. 
Brave, homely little woman with big hands ! 

My homely little woman with big hands. 
Somehow, grew almost beautiful to me 
As time went by. Her features I could see 
Grow ever fairer ; and so tenderly 

200 



ONE ANGEL 



The strong hands clung, their touches were commandSj 
Dear homely little woman with big hands ! 



A homely little woman, with big hands 
Folded all patiently across her breast — 
The plain face fair and beautiful in rest — 
But 0, the lips that answer not when pressed ! 
"Make me/^ I cry to God, who understands, 
"A homely little angel with big hands !'^ 



201 



AN invocation- 
Sweet Sleep, with mellow palms trailed listlessly 

Above mine eyelids, folding out the light 

Of coming day, and shutting in the night 
That gave but now such wondrous dreams to me — 
Bide with me yet with thy dear sorcery, 

Until once more I grow forgetful quite 

Of all the cares that blur my waking sight 
With dim, regretful tears ! I beg of thee 
To lift again thy wand with magic filled. 

And filter through my faith the words : Behold, 
Aladdin, as thou badest me, I build 

A new dream o'er the ruins of the old — 
Thine all eternal palace, silver-silled. 

And walled with harps, and roofed with crowns of 
gold ! 



202 



FEOM BELOW 

In the dim summer night they were leaning alone 

From the balcony over the walk; 
He, careless enough, one had guessed by the tone 

Of his voice and his murmurous talk; 
And she — ^well, her laugh flowed as sweet to the breeze 

As the voice of the faint violin 
That ran, with a ripple of ivory keys, 

Through the opera warbled within. 



In the odorous locust boughs trailed o'er the eaves, 

The nightingale paused in his tune, 
And the mute katydid hid away in the leaves 

That were turned from the smile of the moon : 
And the man sat alone, with his fingers clenched tight 

O'er a heart that had failed in its beat. 
While the passers-by saw but a spatter of light 

Where he dropped his cigar in the street. 

203 



GLAMOUE 

Was it in the misty twilight, or the midnight, or the 
morning, 
Or was it in the glare of noon, or dazzle of the day, 
That, half asleep and half awake, and without word or 
warning. 
My fancy, slowly slipping eartlily anchor, sailed away ? 

leave me and my lazy dream a little while together. 
Blending each within the other as we waken in the 
dawn. 
With languid lids anointed by the balmy summer weather 
As it wells above the casement that our vision swoons 
upon ! 

Linger with me yet a little, my lazy dream ! nor leave 
me; 

Though v\^e hear the swallows twitter, it is only in 
their sleep: 
And I want you just to cling to me and love me and 
deceive me 
A little ere the morning when I waken but to weep. 

204 



QLAMOUB 

Ah ! dream of mine, I see you growing clearer yet and 
clearer ; 
Your fairy face comes back again from out the misty 
past, 
And your smile shines on before you till, approaching 
ever nearer, 
It gilds your grave into a glorious trysting-place at 
last. 

And you lean there — waiting for me — ^here's the dainty 
rose-leaf letter 
That you sent me, saying, ^^Meet me here, and share 
my deep delight. 
For my love by this long silence is so truer, purer, better, 
That you will taste of Heaven when you touch my lips 
to-night/' 

Was it in the misty twilight, or the midnight, or the 
morning. 
Or was it in the glare of noon, or dazzle of the day. 
That, half asleep and half awake, and without word or 
warning. 
My fancy, slowly slipping earthly anchor, sailed away ? 



205 



PUCK 

IT was Puck ! I saw him yesternight 
Swung up betwixt a phlox-top and the rim 
Of a low crescent moon that cradled him, 

Whirring his rakish wings with all his might, 
And pursing his wee mouth, that dimpled white 

And red, as though some dagger keen and slim 

Had stung him there, while ever faint and dim 
His eerie warblings piped his high delight : 
Till I, grown jubilant, shrill answer made. 

At which all suddenly he dropped from view; 
And peering after, ^neath the everglade, 

What was it, do you think, I saw him do ? 

1 saw him peeling dewdrops with a blade 

Of starshine sharpened on his bat-wing shoe. 



?06 



MY LADDIE Wr THE BASHFU' GEACE 

My laddie wi' the bashfu' grace. 
That darena spak the tender loe 

That glints o^er sJ thy bonny face 
Like winter sunset on the snow, — 

Gin ye wad only tak my hand, 

And ask, wi^ pressure fond and true, 

My heart — my heart wad understand. 
And gie its loe to yon. 

But sin' ye winna spak me free, 
Or darena tak the langin' tip 
0' ain pnir finger, — come to me 

In mirk o' nicht and touch my lip — 
Then a' the glowin' universe 

Will bloom wi' stars, and flowers, and a\ 
And God's ain seP abide wi' us, 
Nor ever gang awa'. 
207 



A TEESS OF HAIR 

This tress of hair my sweetheart sent to me. 
And so I bent above it tenderly 

And kissed the dainty bow 
That bound the wisp of sunshine, thrilled forsooth, 
Because her lips had nestled there — in truth, 

She told me so. 

And I remember, reading that, the flush 
That fevered all my face, and the hearths hush 

And hurry in my ears ; 
And how the letter trembled and grew blurred 
Until my eyes could read no other word — 

For happy tears. 

This tress of hair ! Why, I did hug and hold 
It here against my heart, and call it gold 

With Heaven^s own luster lit ; 
And I did stroke and smooth its gleaming strands, 
And pet and fondle it with foolish hands. 

And talk to it ! 

208 



A TKESS OF HAIR 

And now I pray God^s blessing may alight 
Upon the orange flowers she wears to-night. 

Her features — keep them fair, 
Dear Lord, but let her lips not quite forget 
The love they kindled once is gilding yet 

This tress of hair. 



209 



OH, HER BEATJTY 

Oh, her beauty was such that it dazzled my eyes 
Like a dreamer's, who, gazing in day-dying skies. 
Sees the snow of the clouds and the gold of the sun 
And the blue of the heavens all blended in one 
Indescribable luster of glorious light, 
Swooning into the moon of a midsummer night. 

Oh, her beauty was such that I fancied her hair 
Was a cloud of the tempest, tied up with a glare 
Of pale purple lightning, that darted and ran 
Through the coils like the blood in the veins of a man 
And from dark silken billows that girdled her free, 
Her shoulder welled up like the moon from the sea. 

Oh, her beauty was such, as I knelt, with the tips 
Of the fingers uplifted she snatched from my lips. 
And saw the white flood of her wrath as it dashed 
O'er the features, that one moment later had flashed 
From my vision forever, I raised not a knee 
Till I had thanked God for so rescuing me. 

210 



MY OLD FEIEND 

You^VE a manner all so mellow, 

My old friend^ 
That it cheers and warms a fellow. 

My old friend^ 
Just to meet and greet you, and 
Feel the pressure of a hand 
That one may understand. 

My old friend. 

Though dimmed in youthful splendor. 

My old friend, 
Your smiles are still as tender 

My old friend. 
And your eyes as true a blue 
As your childhood ever knew. 
And your laugh as merry, too. 

My old friend. 
211 



MY OLD FRIEND 

For though your hair is faded. 

My old friend. 
And your step a trifle Jaded, 

My old friend. 
Old Time, with all his lures 
In the trophies he secures, 
Leaves young that heart of yours. 

My old friend. 

And so it is you cheer me, 

My old friend. 
For to know you and be near you. 

My old friend. 
Makes my hopes of clearer light. 
And my faith of surer sight, 
And my soul a purer white, 

My old friend. 



212 



THE OLD HAND-OEGAN 

Harsh-voiced it was, and shrill and high, 

With hesitating stops and stutters. 
As though the vagrant melody, 

Playing so long about the gutters, 

Had been infected with some low 

Malignant type of vertigo. 

A stark-eyed man that stared the sun 

Square in the face, and without winking ; 

His soldier cap pushed back, and one 

Scarred hand that grasped the crank, unshrinking- 
But from the jingling discord made 
By shamefaced pennies as he played. 



213 



THE PIPEE'S SON" 

In olden days there dwelt a piper^s son, 
Hight Thomas, who, belike from indigence. 
Or Titter lack of virtuous preference 

Of honorable means of thrift, did, one 

Weak hour of temptation — (weaker none!) — 
Put by ye promptings of his better sense. 
And rashly gat him o^er a neighbor's fence 

Wherein ye corner was a paling run 

About a goodly pig ; and thence he lured. 
All surreptitiously, ye hapless beast. 

And had it slaughtered, salted down, and cured- 
Yea, even tricked and garnished for ye feast, 

Ere yet ye red-eyed Law had him immured. 
And round and soundly justice-of-ye-peaced. 



214 



THEKE IS A NEED 

Theee is a need for every ache or pain 

That falls unto onr lot. No heart may bleed 
That resignation may not heal again 
And teach ns — there's a need. 

There is a need for every tear that drips 

Adown the face of sorrow. None may heed, 
But weeping washes whiter on the lips 
Onr prayers — and there's a need. 

There is a need for weariness and dearth 

Of all that brings delight. At topmost speed 
Of pleasure sobs may break amid onr mirth 
Unheard — and there's a need. 

There is a need for all the growing load 

Of agony we bear as years succeed ; 
For lo, the Master's footprints in the road 
Before us — There's a need. 
215 



LOVFS AS BEOAD AS LONG 

LooKY here ! — ^you fellers — ^you 
Poets I^m a-talkin^ to, — 
Alius rhymin^, right er wrong, 
'Bout your "little'^ love, and 'aong''— 
'Pears to me 'at nary one 
Of you fellers gits much fun 
Out o' lovin' — tryin' to fit 
Out some f ool-receet f er it ! — 
Love's as broad as long ! 

Now, I 'low 'at love's a thing 
You cain't jes' set down and sing 
Out your order f er, and say 
You'll hev yourn a certain way ; 
And how ^^long" a slice you'll take, 
Er how short — ^'cause love don't make 
No distinctions, and you'll find. 
When it comes, it's all one kind — ■- 
Jes' as broad as long ! 

Fust, one of you'll p'tend 
^^Love's no idle song," and send 
Up his voice in jes' the song 
He's th'owed up on — ^'Love me long !" 
216 



love's as broad as long 

Now they hain't no womarn needs 
No sich talk as that ! — er heeds 
Sich advice as would infer 
Yon hed any donbts o' her ! 
Love's as broad as long. 

Ner I don't see any use, 
Er occasion, er excuse 
Fer some other chap to say. 
In his passioneter way, 
^"^Love me madly, as of yore !" — 
'Cause I've seed sich love afore, 
'At got fellers down, and jes' 
Wooled 'em round till they confessed 
Love was broad as long. 

No; I'll tell you: You jes' let 
Love alone, and you kin bet. 
When the time comes, Love'll be 
Eight on hands as punctchully 
As he was the day Eve sot 
Waitin', in the gyarden-spot, 
Fer ole Adam jes' to go 
On ahead and tell her so ! 
Love's as broad as long ! 

217 



UNKNOWN" FEIENDS 

FEiENDs of mine^ whose kindly words come to me 
Voiced only in lost lisps of ink and pen. 

If I had power to tell the good yon do me, 

And how the blood you warm goes langhing through me, 
My tongue would babble baby-talk again. 

And I would toddle round the world to meet you — 

Pall at your feet, and clamber to your knees 
And with glad, happy hands would reach and greet you. 
And twine my arms about you, and entreat you 
For leave to weave a thousand rhymes like these — 

A thousand rhymes enwrought of naught but presses 

Of cherry lip and apple cheek and chin. 
And pats of honeyed palms, and rare caresses. 
And all the sweets of which as Eancy guesses 

She folds away her wings and swoons therein. 



218 



AN" END 

Go AWAY from me — do ! I am tired of you ! — • 
That I loved you last May isn^t this season^ too ; 
And, you know, every spring there^s a new bird to sing 
In the nest of the old, and a ghost on the wing ! 

Now, don't you assert that I'm simply a flirt — 
And it's babyish for you to say that I hurt. 
And my words are a dart, when they're only a part 
Of your own fickle nature committed to heart. 

It was all a mistake, and I don't want to make 
The silly thing over for your silly sake — 
Though I really once may have been such a dunce 
As to fancy you loved me, some far-away months. 

So, go away — do ! I am tired clean through, 
And you can't make me even feel sorry for you — 
For, with us, every spring there's a new bird to sing 
In the nest of the old, and a ghost on the wing. 

219 



HEE CHOICE 

"My love or hate — choose which you will/^ 
He says ; and o^er the window-sill 
The rose-bush, jostled by the wind, 
Easps at his hands, close-clenched behind, 
As she makes answer, smiling clear 
As is the day, — *^'Your hate, my dear F 

An interval of silence — so 
Intensely still, the cattle's low 
Across the field's remotest rim 
Comes like a near moan up to him, 
While o'er the open sill once more 
The rose-bush rasps him as before. 

Then, with an impulse strange and new 
To him, he says : " 'Tis wise of you 
To choose thus — for by such a choice 
You lose so little, that," — his voice 
Breaks suddenly — the rose-bush stirs — 
But ah ! his hands are — safe in hers. 
220 



A CASE IN PINT 

We don't go much on lawin' 

Here in around the mines ? — 
Well, now, you're jest hurrahin' 

Like the wind amongst the pines ! 
Of course we alius aim to 

Give ^^the prisoner'' a chance — 
Though sometimes a jury's game to 

Eing a verdict in advance ! 

What wuz his name — ^this feller 

'At stold the Jedge's mare 
Last spring ? — wuz tryin' to sell her 

Down here at Eip and Tear, 
When ^Taro Bill" dropped on him. 

And bagged him, sound and good 
And biznesslike, dog-gone him, 

As the constable a-could ! 
221 



A CASE IN PINT 

Well, anjrway, his trial 

Wuz a case in pint : — He pled 
^^Not giiilty^^ — a denial 

^At his attorney said 
Could be substantiated 

On the grounds, ^at when the mare 
Wuz ^^stold/^ as claimed and stated, 

The defendant wuzn^t square, — 

But he^d be'n a-testifyin', 

Eound the raw edge of a spree 
At Stutsman^s bar, a-tryin^ 

To hold one drink in three. 
To ^"^Jim-jams^^; and he reckoned 

^At his client^s moral tone 
Could not be classed as second 

To the Jedge^s — er his own. 

^^That saving-clause is timely,^^ 

Says the Jedge, a-turnin' back 
To color as sublimely 

As Vye seed him turn a jack. — 
^^But,^^ says he to the defendant, 

^^Ef you didn^t ^steal^ the mare 
1^11 ask ef your attendant 

Tharos William,^ didn^t swear 
222 



A CASE IN PINT 

"You wuzn't ^fulF when captured ?^^ 

Then, a-drawin^ of his gun, 
The Jedge went on, enraptured 

With the trail ^at he^d begun, — 
"1^11 tax your re-eoUection 

To enquire ef you know 
That hoss left my protection 

OnY jes^ five hours ago ? — 

"In consequence, it f oilers, 

No man as drunk as you — 
And 1^11 bet a hundred dollars 

To the opposition's two ! — 
Could sober to the beauty 

Of the standerd you present 
This writin' — ^hence my duty 

Plainly is — to circumvent — - 



^9 



And afore the jury knowed it, 

Bang ! his gun went ! — "And 111 ask/ 
He went on, as he th'owed it 

Up to finish out his task, 
"Ef it's mortal?''— then, betrayin' 

Some emotion, with a bow. 
He closed by simply sayin' — 

^^ou can take the witness now !" 
233 



OLE BULL 

dead; in BERGEN, NORWAY; AUGUST 18, 1880 

The minstrers mystic wand 
Has fallen from his hand; 

Stilled is the tuneful shell ; 
The airs he nsed to play 
For us but yesterday 
Have failed and died away 

In sad farewell. 

Forgive — noble heart. 
Whose pure and gracious art 

Enraptured, all these years. 
Sang sweet, and sweeter yet 
Above all sounds that fret. 
And all sobs of regret — 

Forgive our tears ! 
224 



OLE BULL 

Forgive us, weeping thus 
That thou art gone from us- 

Because thy song divine. 
Too, with the master^ gone. 
Leaves us to listen on 
In silence till the dawn 

That now is thine. 



225 



EEQUIESCAT 

Be it life, be it death, there is nearing 

The dawn of a glorious day, 
When the murmurs of doubt we are hearing 

In silence shall dwindle away; 
And the hush and content that we covet — 

The rest that we need, and the sleep 
That abides with the eyelids that love it. 

Shall come as we weep. 

We shall listen no more to the sobbing 

Of sorrowing lips, and the sound 
In our pillows at night of the throbbing 

Of feverish hearts will have found 
The quiet beyond understanding 

The rush and the moan of the rain. 
That shall beat on the shingles, demanding 

Admittance in vain. 



236 



EEQUIESCAT 

The hand on the dial shall number 

The hours unmarked; and the bell 
Shall waken us not from the slumber 

That knows neither tolling of knell 
Nor the peals of glad melody showered 

Like roses of song o'er the pave 
Where the bride and the groom walk their flowered 

Green way to the grave. 

In that dawn, when it breaks, we shall wonder 

No more why the heavens send back 
To our prayers but the answer of thunder, 

And the lightning-scrawl, writ on the black 
Of the storm in a language no mortal 

May read till his questioning sight 
Shall have pierced through the innermost portal 

Of death to the light. 



227 



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